


Torn flowers

by 2W_NikiAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Beltaine, Beltane, Blow Jobs, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Smut, Virgin Enjolras, pining jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: They returned to Jehan’s parents’ house just before the whole sky turned dark blue. They didn’t even realize they had been in the glade for so long. Isabelle was already waiting for them with a hot dinner. “Mom, you should rest down,” Jehan scolded her gently, but it was he who went a second time to add her delicious, vegetable soups.“Do you think we can make it?” Jehan asked his friends cautiously as they went to bed after dinner.“Together we can do everything,” Enjolras said for everyone.Written as part of the Beltain challenge on the website of the Czech and Slovak slash community.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Combeferre/Jean Prouvaire, Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)/Original Male Character(s), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Feuilly/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Torn flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Me: All right, what will I write?  
> My brain: Enjoltaire, something shorter, throw a lot of symbolism in it and maybe some psychosis there. How about some torture or body horror? A little drugs and alcohol, so that the reader doesn't get bored. Yes and sex. Lots of sex.  
> Me: Okay.  
> My heart: BUT ENJOLRAS AND GREATARIRE DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.  
> My fingers: (listen to the heart)  
> My brain: (gives up)  
> Me: (after 40 pages of tooth rothing fluff) What the fuck--
> 
> Well, here we are. My romantic soul decided that this couple just lacked the typical "and they lived happily ever after", so I wrote another romance. Oh, I need to go back to the past, where it was no problem for me to write about the arrogant Enjolras and the psychopath Grantaire... Sweet times.
> 
> Enjoy reading!

Jehan been yawning for the twentieth time since he come to the back room of the Café Musain to attend another meeting of their revolutionary group. He rubbed his eyes. When was the last time he ate? He reached for the glass in front of him and tilted it so he could drink. It was empty. When did he finish drinking it? He didn’t remember. He looked around the room. He was sitting in the left corner, wrapped in his winter jacket. It was already spring, but he was so cold today! He fidgeted. He tried to drink again. The glass was still empty. When was the last time he slept? He yawned again.

“Are you all right?” Jehan looked at Bahorel, who sat across from him, slung his legs across the table, and held a glass of beer in his hand. “Don't you want a drink? It’s freaking hot today. Beer is the best medicine.”

“Thank you,” Jehan said, taking a glass from Bahorel and drinking a good half. His throat was immediately watered with a cold drink, and the bitter taste woke him up a little. He grinned.

“You still don’t like it, right?” Bahorel laughed.

“Wine is better,” Jehan replied, handing him the glass back.

“Keep it, I'll go for my own.”

“Okay.”

“Look, are you really okay?” Jehan looked at him inquisitively. “You look tired.”

Jehan sighed. “I have a lot going on now.” He ran his hand through his red hair and sighed. “But, everything’s fine.” He smiled at him. Even Bahorel knew his smile was fake.

!If you say so,” he said simply, shrugging. “And what do you think about how Marius going to be with his girlfriend at her house this weekend? We bet with the boys whether her dad or she will kill him first. I saw her picture, and I must say — Jehan?” Jehan rose, his right hand resting on the table, his other covering his mouth, eyes with and full of tears. “Je — ”

“Somethings wrong,” he whispered softly, wanting to go to the bathroom. He took two steps and suddenly he saw nothing.

“Shit.” Bahorel rose quickly and grabbed Jehan before he hit the ground. “Fuck.” Jehan’s body was heavy, limp. His eyes were tightly closed, his mouth ajar. “B-boys?” He called to the others in the room. As soon as Joly and Combeferre noticed what had happened, they immediately rose from their seats and ran to Bahorel, who was kneeling on the ground with Jehan in his arms.

“What happened?” Combeferre asked as Joly began to examine Jehan’s face.

“He passed out,” Bahorel replied, swallowing nervously. He hated these situations. He was good in fighting and telling jokes, not helping or saving others.

“He’s hot,” Joly commented, noticing his red faces and ears. “Will you help me?” He asked Combeferre, who just nodded and carefully removed Jehan’s warm jacket. Combeferre rolled it up and laid it on the ground, slowly placing Jehan’s head on it, leveling his whole body and bending his legs.

“Could someone bring some water?” Combeferre asked, and Grantaire raised his hand willingly and went to the bathroom with his glass.

“Did he always look so pale?” Feuilly asked as he examined their court poet. He suddenly looked so fragile. “He’s been tired lately,” he said to himself, but the others began to nod. Everyone noticed how tired and exhausted he was. Grantaire returned with a full glass of water and handed it to Combeferre, who thanked him quietly. He pulled his cotton handkerchief from his pocket and soaked it in a glass. He began to wipe Jehan’s forehead. Joly stared at his watch as he checked Jehan’s pulse on his wrist with one hand.

“What - what -  _ ah _ ,” Jehan growled, trying to sit up.

“Easy there,” Combeferre stopped him, forcing him to lie down again. “Lie down.”

Jehan blinked several times. He gulped. He felt as if he had sand in his throat. His lips were dry, and as he tried to moisten them with his tongue, he found that he didn’t have a little saliva. His temples were beating and his gaze was still a little out of focus. But when he noticed the silhouettes of his friends, who were leaning over him and had worried looks at their faces; he frowned. “What happened?” He asked, finding at least some strength in himself.

“You passed out,” Joly said, placing his hand on the ground. He looked into his face and smiled. “But everything seems to be fine.” He and Bahorel helped him sit up, while Combeferre offered him a glass of water. Jehan thanked quietly and drank a little. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Jehan said truthfully, sighing. He was no longer sick, nor was his head spinning, he wasn’t even cold. He was just terribly thirsty and wanted to sleep. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, why are you apologizing?” Grantaire asked with a laugh, even though it was heard that he was trying to cover up his own nervousness from the whole situation. “It happens.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop it,” Bahorel said, poking Jehan gently on the shoulder. “Now it’s only important that you’re fine.”

“I am,” said Jehan, and drank again.

“Really?” Combeferre asked cautiously, and when Jehan looked at him, he continued, “You’ve been very tired lately. Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

“Jehan, you know you can trust us with anything,” Bossuet added.

“Of course I know,” Jehan said with a smile.

“You’ve been pale, tired lately,” Joly said cautiously, checking Jehan’s forehead with his hand. “But it looks like you don’t have a fever. So you’re probably not sick.”

“I’m not.”

“You haven’t even joined the discussion lately,” Enjolras said, moving his fingers nervously over his crossed arms a few times. “I’m always happy to add a little bit of that romance to our logical thinking.” Jehan smiled heartily at him. “Is nothing really happening?”

Jehan noticed that everyone listened intently, and they seemed to be sincerely waiting for Jehan’s answer. “Oh, my God, you don’t think I’m taking drugs, do you?”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Bahorel said honestly, frowning at it. “Are you?”

“Of course not,” Jehan laughed and sighed. “It’s something else.”

“School?” Feuilly asked this time.

“Family.”

“We could move to the table for such a discussion, don’t you all think?” Courfeyrac suggested, and he and Bossuet brought several chairs to the table under the largest window so that they could all sit together. Meanwhile, Enjolras opened the window, and Combeferre and Joly with Jehan sat directly below it. Joly kept his eyes on Jehan to see if he fainted again. “So tell me,” Courfeyrac said as everyone sat down in a circle around the table.

“It’s nothing serious, really, actually - I’m so sorry you saw me like that. I scared you completely unnecessarily.” Jehan finished his drink and set the glass down on the table. “Do you know how my parents moved from Paris to the village six years ago? Dad was struggling with bourgeois life, and Mom was beginning to be exhausted from all the negative emotions and people around her. They were getting negative at home, even arguing. I’ve never seen the two argue in my life. Perhaps just about whether the kitchen should be painted in orange or beige. In the end, they had it light pink, because they both hate the color, and it was better than arguing.” He laughed. “They knew they couldn’t go on like this. That their quarrels may not be due to the fact that they no longer like each other, but their work, the people and, in fact, the whole of Paris made them feel like this. So they ended their works and went to the village. And they are happier than ever.”

“Will there be a catch?” Bahorel asked cautiously.

“No,” Jehan shook his head. “They are really happy. People in the village respect them. And Mom could finally fully dedicate herself to her religion. Do you know how much I like, what do you call it - _ witchcraft _ ? ”

“Something’s wrong gonna happen,” Bossuet said.

“I have it from my parents. Both are believers. But not Christians, Jews - they are neo-pagans. And in the village, they met like-minded people, and even those who don’t believe go to their usual sessions and gatherings, because my mother can tune everyone so beautifully that they don’t mind religious elements.”

“This is how you usually start a film about sects with a very bad ending,” Grantaire said.

“Don’t say that,” Jehan complained. “My parents never put pressure on anyone. They didn’t try to persuade to believe what they did. They just want everyone to respect them, as they respect others faith or not. It’s been five years since they started celebrating the old holidays in their village, which they try to keep, according to their traditions. They started first with the celebration of Lita and Yula. You may better known it as the summer and winter solstice. The whole village was thrilled and after two years they started celebrating all the important holidays from the Round of the Year. There are eight of them together. And this Friday, Beltane will be celebrated. And my parents are sick, they don’t have the strength to prepare for all of it, and I promised to help them, but - _ dammit _ , it's too much,” Jehan breathed defeated and leaned his elbows on the table. He put his head in his hands and exhaled again. “I'm gonna disappointed them.”

“Don't say that, they’ll understand,” Joly said, stroking his shoulder.

“Sure, they’ll understand because they’re so kind, but I’m going to feel stupid. I promised to take care of it. My mom told me she could handle it on her own, but I forced her to rest and leave everything to me. I’m going to see them tomorrow and I know I won’t be able to do half of the things.”

“Shouldn’t everyone in the village make the preparations?” Grantaire asked suddenly, and they all turned to him. “Well, I read something about these holidays too. I know more than Greek mythology.”

“You’re right,” Jehan said into his hands, growling again.

“Damn, Enjolras, do you hear? He said I was right. You didn’t expect to ever hear it about me, did you?”

“Grantaire, shut up,” Enjolras said irritably, and Grantaire playfully stuck his tongue out at him.

“Stop you two,” Courfeyrac warned them both with his typical dissatisfied expression.

“Go on,” Combeferre said to Jehan.

Jehan placed his hands on the table and smiled at him. “But most things are arranged by my parents. They’re still trying to make it a big surprise for most of the village. They know what will happen there and, I quote,  _ they pull the strings so that it will be an unforgettable night for everyone _ .”

“Is that why you were so tired now?” Joly asked, and Jehan just nodded. “When was the last time you slept?”

“More than an hour? I don't even know anymore…”

“You should rest,” Combeferre said in his typical, fatherly voice.

“We don’t need another Enjolras who get drunk on coffee and energy drinks, we already have one.”

“Hey,” Enjolras growled a little angrily at Courfeyrac’s remark.

“Don't try to deny it, it’s true,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “But, thank to you—” He pointed at Enjolras. “—who likes to do everything by himself and doesn’t get much help from anyone, I think about you, Jehan. I know that you can refuse help, especially from friends who mean it sincerely from their hearts.”

Jehan blinked at him in confusion. “You mean like—”

“Does anyone want to go on trip tomorrow?”

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Jehan checked to see if he had packed everything, slung his backpack over his back, and dragged one of his large suitcases behind him. As soon as he came out of the gate that led to the complex of buildings where he lived in his luxurious apartment; he smiled broadly. At the street stood gray van, which looked like it had just been taken out of service, how beautifully it shone; were five of his friends - Combeferre was behind the wheel, still tapping into a cell phone attached to the dashboard; Courfeyrac placed the passenger seat in a horizontal position and tapped his thighs with his palms on the rhythm of the music pouring from the car; Feuilly and Enjolras stood in front of the car, talking about something, and the younger of them was still smiling; Grantaire sat on the curb smoking a cigarette.

Early in the morning, Joly wrote an apologetic message to Jehan that he really couldn’t take days off from medical practice. Everyone knew that as soon as he left the hospital, he ran home, where he took care of Bossuet, who, in some mysterious way, broke his leg on a pétanque. He was glad he had limped to their usual meetings. Bahorel already had plans to train properly for the whole week, on Saturday he had a semifinal in an amateur boxing tournament. “ _ I'll win it for you _ !” He told him yesterday at the Musain Café before saying goodbye. “ _ Perhaps it will be a big excuse for not going anywhere. I hope you come to see the match! _ ” Jehan promised him to go.

“I’m here,” Jehan said cheerfully as he approached them and everyone greeted him. Courfeyrac made room for him in the passenger seat so that he could possibly navigate Combeferre and sit behind him with Enjolras. “Thank you very much for this.”

“Don’t thank us yet, you don’t know how it will turn out,” Courfeyrac said with a smile.

“Maybe instead of helping, we will set it on fire,” Feuilly said, getting into the car.

“No spoilers,” Grantaire scolded him with a laugh and sat down in the back seat next to Feuilly.

“Fasten your seatbelts,” Combeferre reminded them, setting the cell phone so that he could see the display that showed him where to go; he turned on the radio and drove out.

The road was calm. Combeferre focused on the road and the traffic, sometimes muttering something under his breath, and smiled slightly whenever his gaze met the Jehans’. Jehan always returned the smile and, without always needing it, straightened his restless hair behind his ear. Enjolras read a book all the way, which the title sounded very historical and political. Courfeyrac had a heated discussion with Feuilly and Grantaire about whether the new film of the animated  _ Neon Genesis Evangelion  _ was as good as it is said to be.

When Courfeyrac refused to discuss further, because the other two didn’t want to agreed that Asuka was an underappreciated character; he focused his gaze on the front seats. “Look, Jehan, I read something about that Belfain—”

“—Beltaine,” Combeferre corrected him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Courfeyrac waved his hand. “I read that it’s a fertility celebration.”

“Yes, it is,” said Jehan, turning to Courfeyrac. “It’s a holiday to celebrate the awakening of—”

“A feast with a lot of casual sex,” he chuckled like a teenager.

“Well, that too, but—”

“And an orgy,” he added in a higher voice.

“Well, maybe be—”

“I’m so glad I’m going,” he said dreamily, and Jehan laughed.

“Do you really think taking him with us was a good idea?” Grantaire asked Jehan. “We know how cheerful his crotch is, but does the whole village really need to know?”

“The whole village? You’re a fan of me.”

“It was more of a challenge.”

“Don't tempt me.”

“Shall I try it?”

“Guys, please, I need to concentrate,” Combeferre interrupted their arguing.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, pantomizing that he was locking his mouth.

“I'm sorry,  _ Daddy _ ,” Courfeyrac said in a seductive voice, but with an innocent look.

“Please not this,” Feuilly moaned, closing his eyes tightly. “Like I haven’t had enough in the years I’ve lived with Bahorel.”

“Is he really as good at bed as he says he is?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“I’ve always thought he tortured all those people in bed, thank to the noises I heard.”

“Maybe he’s into bdsm,” Courfeyrac deduced immediately.

“Why do you think so?” Enjolras asked, his eyes still on the book.

“It’s rude to listen strangers talk, Apollo,” Grantaire said as he touched his seat so he could look Enjolras in the face. “And I don’t know if this is the right topic for you.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Enjolras asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because innocent people should put on headphones and listen to stories about kittens.”

Enjolras just tilted his head to the side with look telling him  _ Are you kidding me _ . Feuilly quickly pulled Grantaire back to his seat. “You two are unteachable,” he said more forcefully than he intended. He looked at Enjolras and just chuckled. “If it were someone else, I would have accused you of sexual tension.”

“What?!” they both shouted at once, their faces a little pink.

“Look at them like two virgins,” Courfeyrac laughed.

“Guys,” Combeferre said again, this time with a slightly warning tone.

The boys began to talk quietly about things that were certainly not for the ears of innocent souls. Jehan therefore decided to refocus on the path ahead of them; and Enjolras returned to his book, but paid no attention to it. His blushing faces betrayed him each time something more spicy came from the debate next to his ears.

In less than three hours, Combeferre parked his car at one of the white houses, which had been painted with blue ornaments, and had large garden with a lot of flowers and herbs. Jehan didn’t even take his things out of the trunk and had already unlocked the main gate so he could enter the house. The boys followed him slowly.

As soon as they entered the house, they felt as if someone had hugged them. They met Jehan’s parents a few times, always at Jehan’s apartment. They met him when his parents moved out of Paris already. But even if they had no idea whose house they were entering, they would be able to guess. After all, Jehan took over everything from his parents, including their taste.

As they entered the door, they were immediately greeted in the hallway by an old, golden Retriever Hubert, who greeted everyone by poking his wet muzzle at their palms. The hallway was painted with purple color, with thick, patterned rugs on the floor and knitted, cotton patterns hanging on the walls. Several glass pompoms emanated from the ceiling, in which cacti bloomed.

A corridor led to a living room connected to the kitchen. Everything was decorated in brown, beige and white. It smelled of herbs and scented candles. In the middle of the room was a table on which were placed several papers and crushed flowers with tubes The kitchen smelled of freshly baked cake. There were several flower pots on each furniture, from which green leaves grew.

“I’m upstairs!” Jehan called to the boys from the first floor. On the first floor, the corridor was even longer than on the lower one. It was as purple and overgrown with flowers as the others rooms. “This is a guest room,” Jehan said as he walked over to them and opened the door closest to the stairs. “And this is my room.” He pointed to the door next door. Both rooms were painted in green color and had lots of green and pink flowers in pots. The rooms were connected by a shared balcony. There was a large library in the guest room, and several large pillows were laid on the floor, while in Jehan’s room was a terrarium with a snake and several pots of marijuana. Extra beds, pillows and duvets were in all rooms. “There's a bathroom and a toilet over there,” Jehan pointed to the two doors on the right. “This is the bedroom.” He pointed this time to the largest, oak door in front of them, engraved with the names of his parents,  _ Theo _ and  _ Isabelle _ . “I’ll go see them, you can unpack for now.” He went to the bedroom and let the boys unpack their things.

In a few minutes, the bedroom door opened again. “Be careful,” Jehan said. The boys slowly peered out of the rooms and looked down the hallway where Jehan was supporting his mother Isabelle. She was wearing a white, cotton dress and a green, knitted scarf draped over her shoulders. Her hair was as red and thick as her son, only her braids entwined in a braid stroking her cross. She had circles under her eyes, she was pale, and her cheeks were a little pink; but she still looked relaxed and happy. If Jehan hadn’t told them that she was ill, they wouldn’t guest it. She still looked beautiful.

“Hello,” they greeted her, and she smiled broadly at them.

“Nice to see you, sweethearts.” Everyone smiled. It was typical that Jehan’s mother called them sweethearts. She had a good, big, golden heart, which she opened to anyone who appeared near her. More than once, the boys wondered how it was possible for someone to be so kind and nice to everyone. Sometimes, when they remembered their families with whom they didn’t have the best relationships; they took her as their own mother. And she treated them like sons. They liked her. “I hope the journey here wasn’t too difficult.”

“Just awfully annoying,” Courfeyrac said, pointing to Grantaire and Feuilly.

“You one to talk,” Feuilly said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, your bickering. I would almost forget about that. Even though Jean keeps telling me about it all the time,”she said on behalf of her son, who just shrugged. “I’d give to kiss to all of you, but I’m afraid I will make you sick.”

“Are you feeling better?” Combeferre asked.

“Yes. I think I’ll be healthy until the celebrations. I don’t even have a fever anymore, I just feel very weak. Even so, I hope you have a sweet tooth after that long journey, I baked cakes.”

“You should rest, not bake,” Jehan said carefully.

Isabelle stroked his hair with her hand and smiled at him. She revealed her deep dimples. Jehan also had you after her. “You’re very worried about me, Jean.” They went downstairs to the kitchen, sitting around a long dining table with a hand-embroidered tablecloth and a vase with freshly picked meadow flowers. Isabelle and Jehan placed three teapots and a bowl of chopped rhubarb cake on the table. Jehan returned to the kitchen and began looking for clean cups while Isabelle sat at the head of the table. “There is jasmine tea in a white teapot, lemon balm in green and black in red with a little cane sugar. Take whatever you want.” Jehan placed a cup in front of each, poured himself a green teapot, and sat next to his mother. He kept his eyes on her. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Is it possible? You and Dad don't take care of yourself at all.”

“You’re so worried about us, darling.”

“I’d be calmer if you will go to doctor.”

“He would just give me pills that wouldn’t work at all, and I’d have to heal myself anyway. Herbs are the answer,” she said, stroking his hair again. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I don’t need a doctor for that.”

“They’re all charlatans,” Courfeyrac laughed, looking at Combeferre. He bit the cake scary slowly as he glared at Courfeyrac with his icy calm gaze. “Ugh, I nhave goosebumps, look, look!” He reached out in front of Combeferre, who rolled his eyes.

“Is the study going well?” Isabelle asked Combeferre.

He just nodded. “I pass into the last year and I will be able to pass the state final exams.”

“A doctor in the family is always good.”

“In the family?” Combeferre asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Mom,” Jehan whispered, poking his elbow into her arm.

Isabelle just smiled. “And how are you guys, anyway?”

“I finally have a leading role in amateur theater!” Courfeyrac shouted enthusiastically and finished his tea quickly. “They finally noticed my talent!”

“What should we all understand that means killing the person who was originally supposed to play the main role,” Combeferre retaliated.

“Excuse me sir! That’s below my level,” Courfeyrac countered, his chin up.

“Because sleeping with the director of that play is much more ethical,” Enjolras remarked, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“I’d rather expect that remark from him.” He pointed at Grantaire.

“Me?” Grantaire put his hand on his chest and blinked in surprise. “That hurts.”

“Like all your ex who weren’t ready for your bullshit.”

“But they were better, after you showed them the worst numbers in bed.”

“Like Combeferre, I pass to another semester,” Enjolras interrupted, glancing at the two to stop. He looked at Isabelle and smiled softly. “I got to see Dr. Lamarque as an intern.”

“Is this the important lawyer you told me about?”

“Yes, that one. I only help him with correspondence so far, but he promised me that if I proved successful, I could go to public hearings with him soon and, in time, to court. It’s still in the future, but I think I could do it.”

“Sure, you’re very handy,” Isabelle said convincingly, and Enjolras felt his ears start burning. He wasn’t used to being praised. His appearance? Yes, that was normal and it didn’t do anything to him anymore. But character? Even his parents couldn’t tell him that they loved him, let alone offer him such a compliment as saying that they were proud of him. It’s always been so easy for Isabelle.

“I promoted,” Feuilly said, adding another piece of cake to his plate. “It’s still not great and I hope that soon I will be able to go somewhere where I will get more money and will be more… pleasing, but I still have to pay rent. And that is the main thing. By the way, the cake is delicious.”

“You’re so nice.” Isabelle finished her tea and looked at Grantaire. “And you?”

“All the same,” he said quickly. He always felt good in a group of his friends and was actually happy with them, but the moment they started talking about the future; the progress they have made at work or study; about people they knew; about the relationships they have experienced; he preferred to make everyone laugh with his remarks and witty allusions. He was always able to divert attention. Then no one wondered why he was fired again from Art History lectures, and because of that he would have to repeat the whole year; why he can’t turn the heat up in his apartment when he’s been late renting for two months; why he slept with Montparnasse, though he swore to everyone that he would never have anything to do with him again, but after he turned blond and began to remind him — He looked at the blond in front of him. Enjolras looked at Isabelle, revealing his sharp jaw, soft neck, and freckle right under his ear. Normally it couldn’t be see because of the curls, but every time he looked this way — He shook his head. He shouldn't think of anything.

“So, we can go back to my speech on how I got into the top; let me continue,” Courfeyrac said theatrically, straightening in his chair. He began to pompously talk about what they were doing in the theater, how they were preparing for rehearsals and trying to manage the life of a law student. Sometimes everyone laughed. Courfeyrac, though loud and annoying at times, could be a perfect speaker. Even a few managed to make an anecdote on the spot. Thanks to his narration and the warm welcome of Jehan’s family, did they feel so relaxed? As if they belonged here the whole time. As if they were home alone.

“How are you looking forward to Beltaine?” Isabelle finally asked them.

“I’m looking forward to it," Courfeyrac said, drinking rather immediately to cover his smile. Combeferre just shook his head, Enjolras sighed, and Jehan laughed.

Isabelle looked at them all and looked at her son. “Don’t ask,” he told her.

“I think It will be interested.”

“I believe not,” Courfeyrac said, blushing a little.

“Can I say that? Please?” Grantaire asked, and Courfeyrac shot one of the warning glances at him. “Because I’ve probably never make him embarrassed.”

“And you won't now!”

“He thinks it’s going to be a big orgy,” Combeferre said with his hands folded across his chest.

“Traitor!” Courfeyrac shouted at him unhappily, his face already red, and he kicked Combeferre in the shin under the table. He just groaned and began massaging the sore spot with his hand. "Please, I know you’re absolutely amazing and you take everyone as they are, but don’t think anything wrong about me. I really—”

“Oh, honey," she interrupted. “That’s okay. Nothing happens. It’s perfectly normal. You’re young and you’re also interested in these topics. And so, if it calms you down, it’s also one of the symbols and traditions of this wonderful celebration.”

“Really?” Courfeyrac and Enjolras asked in the same time, one enthusiastically, the other a little confused.

“Yes, it’s a fertility celebration. It’s said that that night is the best chance of conceiving a child.”

“I don’t want to be a lawyer to determine paternity,” Grantaire said.

“But it’s not just about that,” Jehan said, looking at his friends. “Celebrating the arrival of spring, the awakening of nature. Fires are lit, they dance, they sing, they feast, and everything is—”

“Honey, calm down.” Isabelle stroked her son’s arm. “It’s okay they are curious.”

“It is, but I want you to know that it’s not just about having fun with someone. It’s about love, too,” he said firmly, looking at the flowers on the table. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye. He knew the look would betray him. “Proof of unrelenting love. Which is also expressed physically and is beautiful when one is accepted as he is, but first he must love himself in order to be able to marry.”

“I see why you wanted to study philosophy,” Isabelle said with a smile, and Jehan just sighed. “Write a beautiful poem about it, you can read it at the celebrations.”

“Will it surprise you if I say I already have a few?”

“No.” They both smiled broadly at each other. Deep dimples formed in their faces, and their green eyes gleamed with something none of them really knew. That it would be the imaginary happiness and strong relationship that children have with mothers? None of them knew it.

Isabelle looked at the boy and said, “But maybe it’ll be better if we leave everything to you as a surprise. I reckon it will be your first Beltaine.”

“It won't,” Enjolras said. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Well, I’ve never been to one. And I didn’t even expect to be.”

“What?” Jehan asked, confused.

“I’d love to help, but I don’t believe in it. And I will be selfish from me to be there. So I will not directly participate in the celebration.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Combeferre admitted. They both looked at Isabelle guiltily.

“It’s okay,” she said immediately, getting up. “Will you show them where the celebrations will take place, darling?”

“Of course.”

From the house they walked an elongated stone path that stretched to a wide, green field, across a field of grain, to a forest where there was a large, spacious glade among the spruces, oaks, and birches. It was surrounded by trees and protected it from the eyes of strangers. The sun was shining on the spot with great force, and the rays were replaced by blooming flowers that shone with all sorts of colors. “Wow, magical,” Courfeyrac said in surprise as he looked around.

“And wait until everything is ready,” Jehan said happily.

“So how can I help?” Feuilly was always ready to put his hand to work.

“We probably won’t be able to do anything today.” Jehan watched the sun begin to set. They had a maximum of an hour before dark. He didn’t even realize how long they had been talking to his mother. “It will be necessary to build bonfires, build an altar, build a lighthouse, decorate the surroundings, help drive out cattle—”

“My hands hurt already,” Courfeyrac said, grinning.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” Enjolras said.

“I also hope that someone will repay me quite a lot then. Ideally -  _ orally _ .”

“God,” Enjolras whispered, taking a few steps aside.

“Virgin,” Courfeyrac laughed, wrapping his arms around him.

“Don’t bully him.” Combeferre began to reassure them.

“Telling the truth is bullying?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras looked at him hurt.

“Grantaire, don’t support him,” Combeferre asked.

“You didn’t choose the best workers,” Feuilly laughed beside Jehan.

“Honestly? I couldn’t have wished for a better ones.”

They returned to Jehan’s parents’ house just before the whole sky turned dark blue. They didn’t even realize they had been in the glade for so long. Isabelle was already waiting for them with a hot dinner. “Mom, you should rest down,” Jehan scolded her gently, but it was he who went a second time to add her delicious, vegetable soups.

“Do you think we can make it?” Jehan asked his friends cautiously as they went to bed after dinner.

“Together we can do everything,” Enjolras said for everyone.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The next day, everyone woke up before eight in the morning. “I never knew a snake could make such a mess,” Grantaire moaned as he finished his green tea for breakfast. “And he stinks.”

“Don't slander Dante,” Jehan protested as he began packing his axes, knives and gloves.

“Dante? Really?” Grantaire laughed.

“Apollo? Really?” Enjolras asked, walking down the stairs and adjusting his pulled-out T-shirt, which he had worn for years only at home, mostly for cleaning.

“It’s a compliment,” Grantaire said with a smile and shrugged. Enjolras just raised an eyebrow.

“Apollo?” Isabelle asked her son, who leaned over to kiss her goodbye.

“Grantaire’s is calling Enjolras  _ Apollo _ , according to the Greek sun god.”

“And theater, dance, art, muses and archery,” Combeferre added, packing everything in his backpack.

“Don’t forget the plague,” Grantaire said at once, putting on his sneakers. “You’re such a plague, too. For parliament and so on.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Enjolras asked seriously.

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s up to you how you take over.”

“Stop calling me that, I don't like it,” Enjolras said at last.

“And what else can I call you?”

“What about Belenos?” They both looked at Isabelle, who looked at them with interest. “He’s a Celtic god of sun. Although it is more associated with healing springs and medicine.”

“Belenos,” Grantaire said, his eyes brightening. He turned to Enjolras and said again. “Belenos?”

“No.”

“Hell yes.”

“No,” Enjolras said more forcefully, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him out the door in front of him. Grantaire could still be heard laughing.

“They talk differently than I remember,” Isabelle said with a smile.

“I told you they finally talked and started respecting each other.”

“Do you think that’s the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Isabelle said, rising slowly from her seat to escort Jehan to the door. “Say hi to everyone. Tell them I’m sorry that I can’t be there today.”

“I will.” He kissed her cheek once more and followed the others.

“Isn’t it too early for a maypole?” Combeferre asked as he stood next to Feuilly, holding an ax in his hand, his eyes choosing a tree suitable for the purpose.

“It is,” Jehan agreed. “But with what we still lack, I would like us to master at least the main traditions. I don’t want to embarrass my parents and not build such an important symbol as maypole.” Combeferre just growled as the sign that he understood.

“Shouldn’t it be built on the day of the celebration?”

“Yes,” Jehan confirmed again. “But this time there will be a party with a slightly different program. The maypole needs to be ready. And we have to finish everything tomorrow. I don’t want to make mistakes.”

“I’ll need help!” Feuilly shouted a few steps away as he began to mow with an ax into one of the healthy, tall tree. It took almost half an hour for Feuilly to cut through the birch. As it began to fall to one side, everyone slowly supported it and carried it to the glade. They laid it on the ground, and Jehan immediately said, “All the branches must be cut off, the leaves and buds plucked from it. Put them here in that bowl. We have to get rid of the all the bark, it has to be completely bare. I have to leave for a while,” said Jehan, handing a bowl to Enjolras. As soon as Jehan disappeared into the forest, the boys set to work. Combeferre and Feuilly saw the branches with a chainsaw; Grantaire with Enjolras and Courfeyrac took care of tearing the leaves and buds they threw into the bowl.

Jehan was back in a few minutes. He held a large box in his arms, from which several leaves protruded. He laughed. Before the boys could greet him, twenty other people entered the glade behind him. Two older gentlemen, otherwise young people. The boys stopped working and stood up to say hello to the people. “They’re the inhabitants of the village. They heard that my parents are sick, so they want to help us,” Jehan explained.

“It also spread pretty quickly that you came with some boys,” said one of the girls, who was holding a bowl containing several colored streamers.

“And they say they’re catch,” another added.

“I see it wasn't a gosip,” another laughed as she looked at the boys.

Jehan just rolled his eyes. “Stop it, you’ll scare them.”

The girls giggled. They walked over to the boys and looked at the cut sentences. “Can we help you?” One of them asked.

Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up, he adjusted his T-shirt and just nodded. “Ladies, it will be my pleasure.” As the girls sat with him on the grass and began to have fun and laugh quietly, Courfeyrac’s eyes darted between them, smiling like a cat Cheshire.

“He’ll tear his mouth open by any moment,” Enjolras commented as he watched them from a distance.

“Are you jealous, Apollo?” Grantaire laughed beside him.

Enjolras turned to him. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” Grantaire said in a similar tone, and Enjolras just rolled his eyes. Grantaire never miss a chance to make fun of him. Although he didn’t like it, he was glad they could talk to each other other than hot discussion and shouting.

He sat back in place and went to work. He was silent. He didn’t even look at Grantaire. He stood beside him for a moment. “I didn’t offend you, did I?” Asked the brunette, looking at Enjolras and noticing that despite the smile on his face, he was knocking his feet nervously.

Two years ago, Enjolras couldn’t think about him without getting mad. It was hard to see him at every meeting. He knew how their meeting would always turn out. He was tired of arguing with him, as well as being in his presence. When they were not arguing, Grantaire laughed so loudly and talked about his adventures and told vulgar jokes that he get migraine every time.

What has suddenly changed? In fact, they didn’t even know. They say they grow up. Grantaire started dating with a boy two years ago who was using him, and it was Enjolras who was the first to point out to him if he was right for him. Grantaire made fun of him and tried to convince him that he would definitely not get advice from a boy who didn’t even know how it is to date and love someone. But it was Enjolras that Grantaire had sought out when he broke up with him, and it turned out that he was really the bastard the younger of them thought. Enjolras took Grantaire home at the time, sat on the floor in the living room, poured them wine, and watched movies until morning. Grantaire spoke as dawn broke and they both felt their eyes ache from watching TV. He talked about everything that bothered him. And Enjolras listened. He looked at him, examining his every grimace, a fleeting smile, a flash of tears.

And then it happened. Grantaire finished his wine, looking at Enjolras. Their heads were close. His eyes began to hypnotize each other’s mouths. It was Grantaire who took the first step. He leaned gently over Enjolras, narrowing his eyes. It was clear what he wanted. Enjolras, inexperienced and a little taken aback by the situation, was too hasty and approached so fast that their foreheads collided. It was a big blow. They both pulled away from each other and rubbed their red foreheads. After a few seconds, they looked at each other and began to laugh out loud until tears welled up in their eyes.

And then they stopped arguing. They began to tolerate each other. They became interested in what the other was doing outside their group. In fact, it could be said that a friendship was finally formed between them, which they had previously covered with constant quarrels.

But they both felt that  _ friendship  _ wasn’t the right word to describe their relationship.

Enjolras shook his head quickly. “No,” he said abruptly, trying to drive away all thoughts. Thoughts on -  _ him _ . It's been happening too often lately. He didn’t know when it started, but he knew it got worse. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t remember this brunette; he thought of how loud he was laughing, and how his voice wine was always harsch and strangely attractive after two glasses of wine, and how his eyes glowed every time they look at each other and smile as if—

“Do you want help?” Enjolras turned to the right, where a rather handsome and fairly tall young man stood. He had auburn hair and big green eyes. He was somewhere around their age, maybe only twenty-three.

“I think we're here—”

“We’re here  _ nothing _ ,” Grantaire laughed. “I still have to drink, my place is yours.” With that, he went to Jehan, who unpacked the ribbons and streamers from the box, rolled them into balls, and lined them up in a row. Grantaire’s backpack lay beside him. He pulled a bottle of wine from it.

“Isn’t it early for wine?” Jehan asked. But Grantaire had already opened the bottle and gulped up twice. He growled contentedly.

“It’s never too early for wine,” he said with a smile. “What are you doing?” He sat down next to Jehan, who was concentrating on winding the streamers.

“It's a maypole decoration. When the whole tribe is cleansed and we put this wreath that Mr. Mabeuf brought, on top, we have to decorate it. These streamers are used for that. You hangs them around the wreath and wraps the whole trunk with those ribbons while dancing and singing together. It looks beautiful. Not just the maypole itself, but the way it will look.” He placed another ball of red ribbon in a row. “It usually made after midnight at the day of celebration, but when you see what will be prepared for the evening itself; maybe my parents will forgive me for once.”

“You put a little modern into their traditions, didn’t you?”

“A little,” he laughed.

“Do you want to help?” Grantaire asked as he drank again and placed the bottle beside him. “I’m quite skilled with hands. Maybe the only good quality for artists.”

“I thought you and Enjolras were cleaning the branches.”

“It used to be,” he laughed, picking up a tangled, blue ball. Meanwhile, Jehan looked behind him. Enjolras sat on the ground, a few branches on his lap, tossing carefully cleaned leaves and buds into a bowl, and though he had a conversation with a boy sitting next to him and he could be seen to be genuinely interested in him; he was still looking in their direction. When their eyes met, Enjolras smiled slightly at him and immediately focused on his work. He didn’t look up after that. As if he was ashamed that Jehan caught him. Jehan sighed, looking at Grantaire, who was rolling the ribbon into a ball. They both had the same expression on their faces. He knew it. He saw it every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror, thinking about—

“Grain-”

“Don’t talk about it,” he said softly, lining up the ball, drinking, and taking another from the box.

Jehan was silent after that.

In an hour, everything was done. Grantaire and Jehan checked to see if they were holding the wreath correctly on the maypole, and all who had a few strength left in their hands helped lift the entire maypole. It didn’t take long and it rose beautifully to the sun. Several streamers fell from the wreath to the ground. The ball unfolded and fell directly to the ground. Jehan took one of the balls in his hand and walked slowly away from the maypole until it was untangled and stretched. He looked at the top of the maypole and smiled. “Everyone come, there are plenty of them,” he said to the others, and everyone, especially the young ones, ran to the maypole. Courfeyrac didn’t even have to be encouraged, and he was already picking up one yellow ribbon, as was Feuilly. Grantaire approached the maypole with a girl, and they both took streamers side by side - white and red. As Combeferre approached the maypole and took the light blue one directly opposite Jehan, everyone was a little taken aback. The last two balls remained, he looked around and looked at Enjolras, who was sitting nearby. “Enjolras, come here.”

“It’s good,” Enjolras said, smiling. He didn’t like showing off. Although he often appeared on the stage during demonstrations and spoke publicly at political events several times; this was something completely different. Everything that wasn’t about democracy, politics and law was foreign to him. He always preferred to stay away from it and watch everything from a safe distance. After years of knowing him, they knew it was futile to force him into anything. So Jehan just nodded, and finally managed to persuade the older couple to join them.

“ _ The sun is setting, and the fires are burning more _ ,” one of the girls began to sing.

“ _ Join us if you're not afraid _ ,” another added, taking a step to the side.

“ _ You'll see a beauty on a horse, you'll understand at that moment, _ ” one of the boys sang a little falsely.

“ _ That we all get eaten by the love night _ ,” added another.

The one who knew the lyrics sang aloud. Others walked to the beat, some girls hopped, others spun around the streamers. But most of all, laughter could be heard.

By the time the fourth song finished, everyone was close enough to press their bodies against the one of others sides. The streamers were carefully wrapped around the entire maypole, creating a beautiful protection for the entire tribe.

“Beautiful,” Jehan said with the girls when the maypole was ready. “So - another work then.”

“Why a fire, anyway?” Courfeyrac asked curiously as they rested under a large oak tree and ate the snack Isabelle had prepared for them. Grantaire fell asleep after a few sips of wine. “That’s pretty dangerous.”

“It’s a cleansing element,” Jehan said, settling his back against the broad trunk. “It’s said that fires burning on the night of April 30 to May 1 have magical powers. When you dance around them, worship them or skip them and smell their smoke, they can rid you of bad habits. Or gain the new ability you desire - for example, listening or knowing. Or learn to be good at what you do, get rid of addictions. In fact, it fulfills your deep and secret wishes.”

“So, Courfeyrac, you’re forbidden to approach them,” Combeferre said seriously.

“Why?”

“I really don’t want to see your most secret wishes.”

“Surely there would be about twenty naked women and men suddenly yelling -  _ Courfeyrac, I want you, I want you! _ ” Feuilly laughed and the others joined him.

“You’re terrible friends.”

When they had rested enough, they returned to work.

Throughout the day, they managed to change the glade almost beyond recognition. Maypole stood just in front of the tree, which didn’t allow anyone to see further than a few bushes. They set a large bonfire right in the middle of the glade. To their right and left, they built two smaller ones. One of the girls brought two strawy dolls of the same size, which they placed on both small bonfire.

“We’re done for today,” Jehan said as he wiped his sweaty forehead. The sun was slowly setting. How is it possible that time was running out like that? He felt as if they had only just begun.

“Thank God,” Grantaire whimpered, taking a deep breath. He was one of those who built a great bonfire. His hands were screaming from pain.

“I thought you could handle more,” Enjolras said.

“You just tried to  _ sarcasm me _ ?” Grantaire asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Please, I can't take any more sexual tension, so stop it,” Courfeyrac said seriously as he lay down on the grass and took a deep breath. “I want to rest for a while. Oh, my God, my back hurts,” he muttered.

“That’s why you’re lying in the grass. On your back,” Combeferre said as he stood beside him.

“Why does everything need logic for you?” Courfeyrac muttered, closing his eyes. He never worked hard. In fact, he cleaned his apartment every month and once a year helped his grandmother in her large garden with herb and vegetable beds. That couldn’t match today’s exertion and physical performance. “Will you take me?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre, holding out his hands.

“No,” Combeferre said seriously, reaching out to pick him up.

“ _ Daddy _ ,” he whimpered as seductively as in the car.

“And now definitely no.” Combeferre withdrew his hand to his body and let Courfeyrac growl on the cold ground.

“Don’t frown,” Grantaire said as he handed Jehan a bottle of water.

“I’m not frowning,” he said as he looked away from the two. He felt his cheeks flush.

“Sure,” Grantaire laughed. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Jehan said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Sure,” Grantaire repeated, smiling fondly at him. “There is nothing to be jealous about. They’re just friends.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre knew each other before they both joined their revolutionary group. They communicated in jokes that others didn’t understand. Together they experienced situations that Courfeyrac liked to describe to them, and Combeferre always stopped him when he felt he had said too much or was approaching a moment that seemed awkward. Their friendship was an example for  _ true friendship _ for all. And it’s true that Jehan, at least from the beginning, was a little jealous.

Courfeyrac was a great friend, cute, funny and always ready to have fun. He was fine with him and soon found their way to like each other. But Combeferre? He was open, kind, but most of all extremely smart. Whatever one asked him, Combeferre knew the answer. It was like talking to an encyclopedia. And this cleverness attracted Jehan. He wanted to have more fun with him, to spend time with him; but he never knew how to impress him. Although they found their way to each other over time, Combeferre still saw the  _ little brother _ in him, as he liked to call him.

And that was not enough for Jehan.

“You and Enjolras are _ just friends _ , too.” Jehan bit his lip. He knew it would silence Grantaire. But was it necessary to remind him?

Grantaire paused for a moment. He muttered something and drank from his water. Then he just shrugged. “But we are different friends.” Jehan indicated that he had no idea what he was thinking. “One who will always be  _ just  _ friends. Like the two of them. Don’t worry.” He left with that. He would have liked to talk to him about it, but he knew that if he continued, Jehan would continue about Enjolras. And he’d like to get rid of the thoughts about blond boy once. At least for a few hours.

When they returned to the Prouvaire family’s house, they were struck by the strong smell of freshly baked ham. While Jehan rebuked his mother in the kitchen that she should rest, he forced her to sit on the sofa in the living room; the boys took turns in the bathroom and sat at the dining table tired.

“How is your husband?” Combeferre asked as he handed Isabelle a cup of boiled jasmine tea with lemon that Jehan had prepared for her.

“Much better. The medicine you gave him really worked.”

Combeferre smiled broadly. He liked Jehan’s parents. They were always so nice, they were open to any subject. But they never really believed in medicine. Although they supported him and appreciated what he wanted to be a doctor, as soon as he tried to convince them that taking medication did no harm to anyone, he hit a hard wall that he couldn’t break. When he went to the toilet at night and heard how bad Mr. Prouvaire was, after a few minutes of persuasion, he knocked on their bedroom door and asked them if they wanted help. After examining and palpating various places on his body, measuring his temperature and heart rate, he found only one thing - fortunately, it was just flu. Even so, he was surprised when Isabelle took the medicine from him, which he had brought with him, just in case; without undue remarks.

“I’m so glad,” he said only as he sat down with the others at the table.

During the dinner, everyone had a heated discussion. Jehan told everyone about the traditions of all eight Wheels of the Year (“Taken that way, Beltaine and Litha are my favorite ones.”); Combeferre planned in advance what needed to be done and prepared tomorrow (“We’ll need a car for all this, believe me.”); Feuilly praised himself for his well (“I just need a job to have fun, that’s awful.”); Courfeyrac was melting over all the girls he met that day (“Ah, Nicole! The girl is really beautiful and smart, you wouldn’t believe she could recite Shakespeare’s sonnets from her head!”); and Enjolras and Grantaire kept bickering each other (“Are you planning to wear something nice tomorrow?” - “Why should I? I’ll work. I’ll take the same things.” - “ _ Amor _ wouldn’t be please.” - “Amor?” - “The boy who talked to you today.” - “You mean Olivier?” - “It’s  _ Olivier _ , now? Interesting.”).

When they had finished, Feuilly offered to wash the dishes while the others went to bed. “I have the birch wicker for you.” Jehan handed his mother a basket with long wickers.

“You’re a treasure.” She took the basket from him and placed it next to her.

“I hope you don’t plan to knit now.”

“You know I have,” she smiled at him and began picking up the best wickers

“You’re unteachable,” Jehan complained with a smile. He sat across from her and took a few pieces in his hands.

“Any more work?” Feuilly asked as he wiped his hands.

“Only if you want,” Isabella said, pointing to some papers drawing designs for everything she wanted to make from woody plants.

“I’d love to try.” He laid the towel on the kitchen counter and sat down next to Isabelle, who began to tell him what to do.

After a few minutes, Enjolras went downstairs. He poured himself a glass of water and went into the living room. “I can’t sleep,” he said abruptly, sitting down next to Jehan. He put a few pieces of wickers in his lap.

The night was very quiet. Isabelle lit a scented candle that filled the room with the pleasant scent of orange and vanilla. She turned on relaxing music, where the harp and piano were predominantly used. They were quiet, everyone concentrating on their work.

After three brooms made, Feuilly said, “I'm  _ flying  _ away!” He worked hard all day and already felt sleepy. When they heard a strong, deep snoring in three minutes after, they knew it was him. He slept in Jehan’s room together with Grantaire, who wouldn’t have been awakened even by the outbreak of another world war.

Isabelle expertly made several flower boxes, square trays, candlesticks and a few wreaths. She knitted quickly, but adorned slowly. She smiled as she watched the two boys get caught up in their little baskets, which should be used to collect meadow flowers. They looked focused. Enjolras frowned every time a connection failed; while Jehan inspected the entire basket after each correct move.

As they neared the end of their work, Isabelle placed a piece of paper on the table that outlined the procedure for making the wreath. “Would it be possible for you to do each one? Then we’ll be done,” she said with a smile and handed them the selected wickers. They were a little stronger, more flexible, and younger than others. Enjolras took it without question and went into knitting. But Jehan lingered for a moment. “Do you want to go to bed now, darling?”

“Do you really want us to make  _ these  _ wreaths?” Jehan asked cautiously as he looked at her. Isabelle just nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, taking the wickers.

They were both surprised that their wreaths went a little faster than everything else. They looked like they had been bought from professionals. They both smiled at the results of their work. Enjolras laid the wreath on the table and stood up. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired enough that the two will not disturb me. "

“Does Courfeyrac moan the name of an actress again from sleep?”

“It's better than Combeferre’s counting from sleeping." Jehan chuckled. “Don’t laugh when he starts deriving, it scares me.” He said good night to both of them and went back to the guest room.

Jehan stared at the stairs as if waiting for someone to show up. He held the finished wreath he was playing with. “Is there something wrong?”

“I don’t know if it’s needed,” he said, placing the wreath on the table.

“It is,” Isabelle said. She set down the basket and leaned across the table toward her son. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. His eyes gleamed. She didn’t know if was from tiredness or maybe that was tears. But she hoped it would soon turn into hope. “Trust me, darling, you both will need them.” The kiss on his forehead made him smile.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

There was a rumble of dishes all over the house, waking everyone. When the boys got dressed and went to see what was happening, Isabelle was sweeping the spilled flour. “Sorry I woke you up,” she said as she swept the flour into a pile and sat down in one of the chairs. She was almost healthy, but her appetite still didn’t return, so she was weak.

“Nothing happened,” Courfeyrac said kindly as he helped her throw the flour into the basket.

“I made you breakfast.” She pointed to a table where everyone had served a salty croissant and lemon tea. “Jean had to go, the girls came for him to discuss the details for tomorrow’s celebration.”

“Girls?” Courfeyrac asked, sitting enthusiastically in his seat.

“You need a flirting for living?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras murmured in agreement. He wasn’t a morning bird, and it would take a good hour before he would able to utter half a sentence. Feuilly quickly finished his breakfast and began to encourage everyone to get up so they could leave.

“I think you have a really unhealthy relationship with work,” Courfeyrac commented on his enthusiasm as he went into the room so he could change.

“You’re just jealous that it’s stronger than all the relationships you’ve had!”

“Why are you making such a jokes about his relationships, anyway?” Isabelle asked curiously as she sat across from Combeferre and Enjolras, who were still eating.

“Because he brags about them too much, and when they don’t come out, he throws it behind his head and says it’s their fault they left him,” Combeferre said, carrying an empty plate into the sink. “He doesn’t deserve it, and it’s actually cruel of us sometimes, but he’s the same. He still makes fun of our relationships, girlfriends, or in some cases boyfriends. And he has inappropriate notes. Always and everywhere, preferably in places where it is least suitable. It’s the only way to pay him something back, because otherwise he’s good man, right Enjolras? ”Enjolras grunted again.

“That’s why then,” Isabelle said, sipping her tea. “Speaking of which - Honey, could you help me today?" She asked Enjolras. “I need to bake some cakes and pastries for tomorrow.”

“I can’t bake,” Enjolras said, a little startled.

“It’s not difficult, believe me. I need someone who will be at hand and won’t mind listening. Plus, I heard from Jean yesterday that you’re a persistent hard worker, but…”' She didn’t finish, just smiled at him. Enjolras understood. He wasn’t the most skilled. Yesterday, in the meantime, with all the arguing with Grantaire, he heard that they were talking about how many things they would have to prepare and bring to the place. His hands ached beforehand, and he wondered how many scratches and bruises he would have again. At times he felt like a Bossuet.

“Sure,” he said, and continued to eat.

“Then have a good time,” Combeferre said goodbye, and he and the others loaded the car with all the things Jehan had prepared for them at the door in advance, and they drove off.

Jehan had been in the glade with several villagers for almost two hours. Everyone did their job, but they often went to see him to see  _ if it was right _ and  _ if it should be like that _ . At times he was more tired of their questions than his own work. He already understood how Enjolras must feel, making time for each of their closed group outside of regular meetings.

“Your princes, slash rescuers, have arrived!” Jehan turned, and when he saw Courfeyrac carrying a crate of several accessories, he went to him with a smile and took the crate from him. “Won’t there be a kiss from the princess?” He said, pursing his lips. Jehan covered it with his palm and laughed again. “Cruel.”

“Nicole’s over there.” He barely answered, and he’d seen Courfeyrac having fun with her.

“He won’t do much today,” Combeferre said as he brought another crate.

“I think he hopes to  _ do _ something else,” Grantaire said as he placed the two crates on the ground.

“So,  _ master _ , what we’re need to do?” Feuilly asked as he brought the last things they needed.

“Master?” Combeferre asked with a smile.

“Sure! I’m used from work, we don’t have a boss - but a master. Long live apprentice crafts!”

“Interesting.”

“Do you like it?” Grantaire asked with a smirk.

Combeferre felt the blood rush to his face. He cleared his throat quickly. “Of course not. Enjolras and I are one in this. No one should be exalted above anyone, and such addresses seem disgraceful to me.”

“God, I’m asleep,” Courfeyrac moaned, returning to them, leaning on Combeferre’s shoulder. “Wake me when Professor Boring end up his speech.” He began to pretend to snore. Combeferre pinched his cheek. “It hurts!” He growled.

“Where’s Nicole?” Feuilly asked with a smirk.

“She has a boyfriend,” he said defeated.

“Did that ever stop you?” Combeferre asked.

“Oh,  _ Master, _ are you making fun of me?" Courfeyrac used his typical, seductive voice again. Combeferre looked at him warily and slammed his elbow a little on his side. “I see, this doesn't make you excited, Mr. Decent” Combeferre just smiled. He was glad he couldn’t tell how hard his heart was pounding, and the word affected him — He shook his head. He shouldn’t think of anything like that. He vowed to be what everyone thought of him -  _ Mr. Decent _ .

“I’m glad you want to help me, but if you’re just going to argue like that all day, you will not help at all” Jehan interrupted. He said it in a much harder tone than he expected. He knew they still had a long way to go, and each stop made him more nervous.

“We’ll be nice,” Courfeyrac said, his mouth pursed.

“Good.” Jehan sighed. “You’ll help me with the altars now.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Isabelle said, her mouth full. “And that's the first time you bake!”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said with a soft blush on his face. He had no idea if it was caused by the praise or the heat of the oven. He placed the last baking pan filled with currant cakes on one of the wooden boards. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his palm. He looked at his watch. It was almost six in the evening. Did he really spend the whole day in the kitchen? He didn’t know if he felt more humiliated for not doing more strenuous work with the others; or more tired. His thoughts kept running to his mother, who always baked him sweet rolls several times a week. How many nights didn’t she sleep because she stand in the kitchen? How much did her legs have to hurt? How tired was she? Certainly more than he does now.

“Honey.” Isabella’s voice tore him from her thoughts. “Come sit down for a while, you’ve done a lot of work.” Enjolras sat down in the chair across from her and gratefully accepted the cold tea with lemon and elderberries. “You’re handy.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, feeling his ears turning red again.

“Are you ashamed?” She asked cautiously.

Enjolras looked at her and blinked. “Sorry?”

“You have red ears.”

“Oh,” Enjolras whispered, sipping his tea. “I'm not used to praises.” He began to play with his dewdrops on his glass.

“But you deserve praise.”

“It’s just a few cakes and buns,” Enjolras said.

“Not for this, but for what you do for my son. And for all your friends.” Enjolras finally looked at her. “You’re a very good boy. You have a golden heart.”

“Thank you,” he said honestly.

Isabelle studied Enjolras for a moment. “How are you darling?”

“Good,” he replied abruptly.

“Are you satisfied?”

“Yes.” When Isabelle didn’t ask anything else, he continued, “Everything works out for me at school, I’ve found a job. I’ve actually said it all already. I thought about getting a dog, but I realized I didn’t have time for it. So now I’m thinking about getting a cat. I like Maine Coons. Dr. Lamarque messaged me yesterday, I’m going to my first hearing next week. Earlier than I expected. I’m a little nervous about that.” He paused. Isabelle still said nothing. “Parents are healthy,” he added at last. He had no idea what she wanted to hear.

“It all sounds great. And if I can talk to your soul, get freshwater turtles. They’re not that expensive to breed, and it’s easy to maintain, so you can handle it even like a lawyer.” She set an empty cup on the table and looked into his eyes. “But I was hoping if you could tell me how you  _ really  _ felt.”

“Everything’s fine,” he repeated.

Isabelle smiled at him. “Jean often tells me about you. You’re a real family for him. Sometimes I feel like he likes you better than us. But unlike you, he sometimes tells me something he can’t discuss with any of you.”

Enjolras just nodded. He was silent for a moment before asking, “Did he say anything about me?”

“Oh, so many things! We’d be sitting here for weeks before I could name it all. And maybe I wouldn’t even remember anything,” he said happily in his voice. “But he talks about each of you the same. With the same love in voice. Who would you be able to talk about like that?”

“From our group? About everyone. I love them all very much. Although I don’t tell them. Actually, I feel like I’ve never told them. I have never been good at expressing my own feelings. I was hoping, and still hoping, that the things I do for them are enough for them to understand how much I care about them.”

“You’re talking about love as another item on your agenda.”

“Unfortunately, I’ll probably never change that.”

“Is that why you’re afraid of a relationship with a man who admires love so much?”

Enjolras looked at her and frowned. “Sorry?”

“I mean the boy in your group you like so much.” Enjolras opened his mouth, hoping to oppose her, but Isabelle just shook her head. “I see it in you. I know very well how you feel about him.”

“How?” Enjolras breathed in surprise.

“It’s a mother’s secret.” She reached out and gently stroked the back of his palm. “From the moment I met the two of you, I felt like you belongs together. It occurs to me that you two know this very well. Then why aren’t you together?”

“He…” Enjolras swallowed dryly.

“He?”

“He loves me.” Enjolras said it out loud for the first time. He knew that, but he never dared to listen to the words. It was so foreign. So raw.  _ So real _ . “He loved me before I realized by myself. I may have known it all along, but I just ignored it. I had no clue. Anyway, when I realized that all the remarks he had about the rest of us were based on the truth — his true feelings — I began to fear. Because - because we can never be together. "

“Why do you think?”

“We will destroy each other.” He chuckled. It sounded mocking and painful. Just like every time he thought about it. Of course, he imagined what it was like to date him. What it’s like to go to the theater with him, watch a favorite movie or drink wine at night. He thought of what it would be like to walk with him in the Luxembourg Gardens, walk to the top of the Sacré Cour tower, and walk through the night streets. He also thought about what it would be like to kiss him. Is his mouth soft? Or perhaps dry and worn? “We’re very different,” he continued, finding himself thinking of him again and silent for too long. “I’m glad we’re finally friends. That we can have fun together other than fighting. It’s been a long journey and I don’t want - I don’t want to throw it away just because of my feelings. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“Everyone does.”

“I know. Fortunately, I’m not naive in this. On the other hand, thanks to that I take everything very realistically. I can’t look at it from the same side as him, that we can make it somehow. I am terrified by the vision of fleeing friendship, a broken group of friends and hateful looks. I see the quarrels and disagreements that will happen if we succumb to those feelings.”

“Why do you look at love so negatively?”

“Isn’t it?” Enjolras asked, a little rougher than he intended. “Why, after years of finally admitting that I will never love anyone, am I finally falling in love with someone who is interested but can’t have? Why do I have to punish myself by looking at his face daily and seeing him kissing in front of a café with other men? Why should I be happy for making me so nervous? I can't concentrate on work thank to my feelings, because I think about what he probably does, and especially with whom? What—” He paused. “I'm sorry, that was—”

“—Don’t apologize for your feelings and the way you express them. It’s okay.” She stood up. “Come with me.” She went up the stairs to the first floor, Enjolras followed her quietly. Next to the bedroom door were smaller door with hand-painted rowan trees. She opened them and entered the room, which contained fabrics, mannequins, and sewing supplies. Isabelle was a costume designer in Paris. It was also her hobby. She didn’t want to give up even after she left for a better life.

When Enjolras entered the room, he immediately noticed the adorned mannequins. Each wore a different - male - costume. All were hand embroidered, beautiful, colorful. They must have taken several weeks of work. Wreaths were placed on two of them, which they knitted together with Jehan yesterday. But now they were attached to antlers - one roe deers, the other goats. “What is it?” Enjolras asked curiously.

Without answering, she pointed to one of the mannequins, whos clothes glowed in a dark red color. “This is for you.”

"For me?" He asked in surprise as he walked over and touched the cloth. It was gentle, almost slipping from his fingers.

“For tomorrow.”

“What?” He turned to Isabelle, who was leaning against her desk. Several papers were placed on it. All were described. He recognized her handwriting in them. Most of them were notes on the following celebrations. Six costume designs were then attached to the wall with cardboard. All described in the smallest detail. “Is that for us?”

“Yes,” she said. “Nice, isn’t it?” She looked behind her. She loved her suggestions and was one of those who could never criticize her work. 

“I — but I didn’t want to go.”

“I know,” she said simply. “But I know you’re going. I want to ask you for a favor.”

“God, I’m going to die!” Courfeyrac fell in front of the altar, where he taped the last eggshell.

“Keep the theatricality in amateur theater,” Grantaire commented on his behavior.

“We're done a long time ago,” Combeferre said as he packed the last things in the crates he’d put on and began to carry with Feuilly.

“Well, thank God!” Courfeyrac moaned aloud, and a few villagers turned to him. Courfeyrac turned to Jehan. “Look, did I make something stupid now when I mentioned God?”

“Well…”

“Like I offended you now?”

“Courfeyrac, please don’t care about it now and come help us!” Grantaire shouted at him, and the younger listened to him immediately.

As they packed the last crate, Jehan looked once more at everything they had done in the glade and smiled. “I just hope it doesn’t rain,” he whispered to himself, looking up at the sky. With that, he went to the car, where his friends were waiting for him.

“Look, do you think we’ll have a place to go back at all?” Grantaire asked as he helped Courfeyrac into the car so he could collapse in the back seat. “Enjolras in the kitchen. You know what. I’ve always imagined him more like a guy that starts a fire, even from heating the water in the pot. "

“Always?” Courfeyrac asked, laying on his side. “So you’re thinking of him?”

“What? No.”

“So you imagine him standing in his - no, wait - in  _ yours _ kitchen, with an apron around his waist, smudged with chocolate, a plate of dessert in his hands and calling you with a smile  _ Oh, Grantaire, you’re already home, I’ve been waiting for your sweet arms and strong muscles to hug me and crush me at night _ —” Grantaire threw his sweatshirt at him.

“Shut up,” Grantaire said cheerfully, trying not to notice his face burning from imagining everything Courfeyrac had said. It was a very good idea. He needed to get rid of it. “Better keep in mind that you came to celebrate fertility without condoms.”

“Please, what are y - the fuck you’re right!”

When they came back, Isabelle was sitting on the couch, drinking tea, their old retriever Hubert was sprawled on her lap, and she had several packages in front of her. All were carefully wrapped in colored cloth. “You look much better now,” Jehan said as he kissed her cheek and checked her forehead with his hand for a fever. Isabelle just smiled at him.

As on the previous day, the boys took turns in the bathroom and, this time in silence, had dinner. They were pleasantly tired from work and felt a little sleepy. “Where’s Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked as he went down the stairs and pulled a clean T-shirt over his head.

“He went for a walk,” Isabelle told them.

“Now?” Grantaire looked out the window. He could barely see the sun, the sky was beginning to turn dark blue. He frowned. “Don’t you know where he went?”

“Don’t worry about him,” she told him with a smile, continuing to stroke their dog’s fur. Grantaire opened his mouth to say something, but instead swallowed dry and continued to focus on his plate.

Jehan noticed that he poked a fork into the food a few times, was still pensive and knew he was nervous. “Gr—”

“Darling, will you delivered those things?” Jehan turned to his mother, who pointed to the packages on the table.

“Oh, sure,” he said as he took everyone in his arms. Everyone was wearing a name tag, a few words below, which Isabelle wrote. Jehan read a few and smiled. “They will be thrilled.”

“I hope so, I tried.”

“I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

The sky was already dark and several stars shone on it. There were still a few days to the full moon, and yet he looked as if he had already shone in all its beauty. There was silence and peace everywhere. There were no lights or fires in the houses. Most residents had the carpets and washed white, cotton linen dried in the spring air overnight. On a few doorsteps, Jehan saw baskets filled with torn flowers. His heart always pounded. He was looking forward to it, but his hands were knocking with nervousness. He wanted everything to be perfect.

When he opened the gate to their house, he noticed someone sitting in front of the front door. “Enjolras?” Enjolras looked up from the ground and looked ahead. When he saw Jehan, he smiled. “It’s locked?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m waiting here for you.”

“For me?” Jehan asked in surprise. “Ah, well, thank you, but do you know this is one of the safest places I’ve ever known and visited? You don’t have to worry about being attacked here. Anyway, it would spread out so fast that if the robber had a chance to leave, someone from the village would be chasing him with pitchforks already,” he laughed at his own joke. The corners of Enjolras’s mouth lifted for only a few seconds. Jehan looked at him. He looked serious.  _ Too _ serious. “Is something wrong?”

Enjolras gave him one of his deep, quiet glances. This is what he always looked like when he started one of his carefully prepared speeches. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said at last. He turned and picked up the cloth-wrapped package. He put it in his lap and untied it. His fingers touched the red and gold fabric. He examined it carefully, then looked at Jehan.

Jehan smiled. “I thought someone was missing.”

“Can you explain everything to me?”

Jehan sat down next to Enjolras, his hands on the ground. He looked at the night sky. A few stars twinkled beautifully. “What would you like to know?”

“I should probably answer  _ everything _ , because even though your mother tried to explain everything to me, I still have a lot of questions I couldn’t ask her. Maybe something like shame struck me. I didn’t even know that I would ever be capable of such emotions. After what I know all of you.” They both laughed softly. “But, I’d rather talk to you about it. Your mother said we’re similar.” Jehan looked at him. “Combeferre.”

“My dear mother should sometimes know that she should not get involved in other people's lives,” Jehan laughed, but his voice was - sad? Enjolras didn’t like the tone. “Although, that’s just the way it is. She loves everyone and want to save all. And she wants everyone to be happy.”

“You inherited that from her.” Jehan blinked in surprise. “You’re exactly the same, Jehan - just as nice and kind.”

“Do I stick my nose in strangers' lives too?”

“Not to strangers. To friends ones— yes.” Jehan poked Enjolras’s shoulder amiably. Enjolras smiled at him and looked at his lap again. “She said that we’re afraid of the same thing.”

“Rejection.” Enjolras just nodded. “Maybe.”

“I’m not going to ask you for details, in truth, I don’t want to talk about them myself,” he admitted. He picked up one of the fabrics and inspected all the embroidery. There were flower patterns embroidered with colored beads. “But we could talk about this.”

“I’d love to, but let me say one thing in advance.” Jehan moved closer to Enjolras, their thighs rubbing against each other. “Forget about this once—” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “—And listen to this.” He placed his palm on his chest. He heard Enjolras’ heartbeat at regular intervals.

“I can’t promise anything,” the older one admitted. “But I can try.”

Jehan smiled broadly at him and pulled away from him again. “Well, now I’ll introduce you to what is waiting for us tomorrow.”

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“Courfeyrac, get up.” Courfeyrac grunted slightly. Warm palms touched his shoulders and face. They shook him gently a few times. “Get up,” the voice said a little more urgently. Courfeyrac grunted again and touched his palm to his shoulder.

“You're beautifully hot,” he whispered dreamily, snuggling into their hand.

“God, let me go,” the voice said, a little more irritated. Courfeyrac opened his eyes slowly. Combeferre leaned over him. He had a pressed pillow pattern on his face and rubbed his eye. He seemed to be be waked up just a moment ago. “Get up,” he said with a smile, noticing Courfeyrac watching him.

“Work?” He rose to his elbows and yawned loudly. He looked around the room. Enjolras’ place was tidy. “Sleeping Beauty got up before me?” He asked in astonished.

“Actually, I don’t know,” Combeferre said, looking at where Enjolras slept. “I haven’t saw him since yesterday.”

“Me too,” Courfeyrac said, but he just shrugged before thinking about it. Enjolras was sometimes like that. He disappeared without a word and returned without explanation. He had his own world, which he didn’t let others into. Everything had a reason, and when needed, he tolds them. He knew she didn’t have to worry about him. “What time is it?” He asked in surprise when he saw that the sun rising.

“A little after seven.”

“Seven?” Courfeyrac growled. “Why are you waking me up so soon?”

“Don’t you remember that Jehan told us that everyone wakes up at dawn today? Isabelle was here and woke me up. She made us breakfast.” As soon as the word  _ breakfast _ came from his mouth, Courfeyrac’s stomach rumbled loudly. Combeferre laughed. “Looks like your stomach is awake.”

They went down the stairs to the kitchen. “Good morning,” Isabelle greeted them with a smile.

“You look good,” Combeferre said, noticing that he was speaking louder, standing straighter, and looking relaxed on his face. She didn’t even have pink faces anymore.

“I’m healthy now,” she said with a smile, setting two cups of hot black tea on the table. “Which is not the case with my husband. He felt better yesterday and decided it was time to do something. While you were gone, he cleaned up almost the entire house. In the evening, his fever rose again, and I cooled him all night and wrapped him in duvets.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said truthfully, sitting down at the table. “Should I go see him then?”

"You don’t have to, honey, it’s nothing serious,” she said, stroking his hair. Combeferre jerked gently. Isabelle withdrew her hand and smiled. Combeferre quickly focused on his breakfast. He didn’t want to think about what a mere touch had done to him. When was the last time he ever touched him? When he doesn’t count the patients he has met in hospitals in medical practice; and Courfeyrac’s need to embrace each of his good friends; it’s been too long. All touches awoke in him - He shook his head. He should concentrate.

“Where’s your leader?” Grantaire asked as he added another piece of cake to his plate. He loved sweet.

“I don’t know,” Combeferre said truthfully, while Courfeyrac just shrugged. “He was no longer in the room in the morning.”

“Really? That’s weird…”

“Do you miss him?” Feuilly asked with a mischievous smile.

“No shit.” Grantaire covered his mouth and looked guiltily at Isabelle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Isabelle said with a laugh. “Enjolras went to help Jean with the final preparations. They talked about it yesterday when they both returned.”

“I see,” Grantaire said, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

But Feuilly smiled to himself. He already knew him well enough to know that he had just been relieved. He had always been overly worried about Enjolras, even when he hadn’t even admitted how he felt about him. “Idiots.”

“What?” Grantaire asked.

“Nothing,” Feuilly said.

After breakfast, Courfeyrac enforced that he had to lie down for a few more minutes, which eventually became two hours; for which the others, together with Isabelle, were able to pluck the flowers that bloomed around their house and helped her decorate the whole house. “You're really good,” Isabelle said as she inspected her hair in the window glass, which Feuilly had woven into an intricate braid and adorned it with lilies of the valley and daisies.

“I work in the women's team. They’ve introduced me to so many things I don’t even want to talk about.” Isabelle laughed. Jehan often told her about his work at the fan factory.

“I think that will be enough,” Grantaire said as he placed a full basket next to Isabelle, who was sitting in a chair next to the entrance to the house. “Combeferre and I are done.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Why flowers?” Courfeyrac asked, suddenly appearing between the doors and stretching like a cat. “When it’s all about fire all day.”

“Because you probably won’t burn down your house as a honor to spring,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I understand that,” Courfeyrac said, his mouth pursed and his arms crossed over his chest. “Just - isn’t that a bit of a shame? You call for the coming of summer and tear everything that should bloom.”

Before Isabelle could answer, Combeferre replied, “Because then you have nothing to philosophize about.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I have to replace Jehan when he’s not here.”

“If you are talking about my dear son, can I ask you something else? One of the traditions is the release of cattle to pastures, I believe that everyone has already released their herds and have long enjoyed today’s beautiful weather. But in the last house, here in the street, lives an old lady, Marianne Labeuf, who had a female dog who gave birth to eight Border Collie puppies three weeks ago, and unfortunately, died a few hours after the litter. She had a many goats and no one to help her with it. Could you do it? I usually do that, but my husband is worse than in morning.”

“Is it serious?” Combeferre asked.

“No, he’s fever get a little higher again and he has bad dreams,” Isabelle said with a sad look.

“We’ll take care of it,” Courfeyrac said.

“Wait,” Isabelle stopped them. She was still amazed at how willing all of them were. “One more thing. If you had the chance, what flowers would you choose?” She pointed to the basket Grantaire had filled to the brim.

Everyone looked at her confused. “Well, um,” Courfeyrac began, breaking the silence and walking over to the basket. He took it in his hand and inspected the entire contents. “I don’t know names of flowers, so - this and—”

“Give me what you choose.”

“Um, okay. How much?”

“As much as you want.”

“Then - this, this, this.” Courfeyrac placed three different flowers on Isabelle’s palm.

“Beautiful selection.”

“What did I actually choose?”

“Ribgrass, clover incarnate and wild carnation.”

“And why did I choose it?"

“That’s a surprise for now,” Isabelle said mysteriously, placing the flowers on her lap.

Feuilly walked over to Courfeyrac, wrapped his arms around his shoulder, and looked into the basket. “I’ll probably be a classic, but I like daisies,” he said as he handed one flower to Isabelle. “It’s probably the only flower I know,” he said as Courfeyrac studied him. “And this one is pretty, too.” He handed her another white flower.

“It’s cumin,” Isabelle laughed. “Grantaire probably plucked it from our herb garden.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Grantaire said in surprise, but Isabelle just shook her head that she didn’t mind.

“Come and choose.”

“Okay,” he said simply, picking up another of the smaller white flowers. “Kinda pretty.”

“Yarrow. Do you know it's called an Achilles herb? ”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

“And these.” He placed a cornflower, a dianthus, a bladder campion, and a bellflower in her hand. “As an artist, I already know that it doesn’t fit together at all, but because I don’t know what it’s for, I want to be covered.”

“That’s good.” They both smiled at each other. She looked at Combeferre, who was still standing in the doorway. “And you?”

“I’m kind of think it’s for today’s celebration.”

“I was right, you’re really the smart one.”

“Well, I would argue,” Courfeyrac countered. “Just because he remembers everything he reads doesn’t mean he’s smart.”

Combeferre ignored his remark. “I said I wouldn’t go.”

Isabelle blinked and took a basket from Courfeyrac. “Please.” Combeferre sighed and looked in the basket. He was immediately captivated by a single flower, a massive, pinkish, white, and a few flowers were blue. He took it in his hand and handed it to Isabelle. It smelled very strong. “Syringa. It suits you.” Combeferre just raised an eyebrow. Flower talk, as some said, they hid hidden meanings behind flowers; he didn’t understand and didn’t really acknowledge it much. But, as she herself said, it suited Isabelle.

“You can go,” she told them goodbye.

It was a little after four o’clock when the boys returned to the house. Isabelle was still sitting in a chair outside, weaving flowers into wreaths. Her basket was almost empty. “You look a little tired,” Isabelle commented on their expressions.

“I don’t like goats anymore,” Courfeyrac said, sitting theatrically on the ground next to Isabelle. His hair was sticking out in all directions and on his shirt was imprint of goat’s hoof. “They’re really scary.”

“I told you not to go to her from behind.”

“It’s said about horses! I didn’t know that the same was true for goats,” Courfeyrac moaned.

“Did it hurt a lot?” Isabelle asked.

“Probably more of how frightened he was and then he ran it straight into doors,” Grantaire laughed. But he also had a few scars on his hands.

“Laughs the one who snuggled there with baby goat and then fell into roses.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Still better than yours.”

“I guess you enjoyed it there.”

“Yes,” Feuilly said, leaning against the wall next to the door. “But I must say that I know for sure that if I ever want to move to the village, I will only have meadown for growing potatoes. Chasing those animals back was a punishment.”

“They’re like kids,” Isabelle laughed. She knew it very well. At times, she and Mrs. Laubef joked that they were the creatures of hell themselves.

“She’s sending you something.” Combeferre walked over to Isabelle and handed her the bag. “I saw it, I hope it didn’t matter. And I immediately say that I’m not going to ask,” he said with a laugh.

“It isn’t a secret.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a white, goat’s skull. “Decoration.”

“I see who Jehan is after,” Grantaire whispered to Feuilly, remembering what a luxury apartment looked like. Between the terrariums with turtles, snakes, lizards and spiders, and several pots of cacti, several such white, clean skulls loomed. Along with dream catchers, books on witchcraft, candles of all colors, and a pair of knives that none of them could touch because “ _ they were designed for special purposes” _ . Nobody asked what for.

“The celebration begins in half an hour,” Isabelle said as she watched the sun slowly turn dark yellow. “I prepared something for you. Go look in your rooms.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up. “You're like small kid,” Grantaire commented on his enthusiasm, but the younger of them could no longer hear him. He ran into the house and the others followed.

Clothes lay in the place that had served as their bed for the past three days. It was clear from the look that it passed through Isabella’s hand. There was a lot of her handwriting written in it - a thicker fabric interwoven with intricate joins and knots, embroidered with beads and glued with stones that fit together and create shapes with several meanings.

Courfeyrac was the first to change. He immediately went to the bathroom to look in the long mirror they had over the entire wall. He wore white, cotton trousers embroidered with red and yellow thread, which together, in some places, formed ornaments of waves. The white shirt was translucent, and despite the gold, purple, and red rhinestones that ran from his right shoulder to his side, it was still quite visible how elaborate and light brown his skin on chest was. He wore two knitted, yellow bracelets, from which hung a sparrow's feather and the emblem of the sun. He smiled. He came out of the bathroom and said out loud, “Guys, you have to admit, it suits me perfectly.”

“You’re beautiful, Courfeyrac, a model,” Grantaire said mockingly as he leaned against the door of Jehan’s room.

“Well, you look good too,” Courfeyrac said, looking at him.

“I know,” Grantaire said contentedly, trying to hide the praise that made him happy. Like Courfeyrac, he wore white cotton trousers, which, unlike him, were embroidered with gold and green thread. He had pink stones glued to where the threads crossed. His shirt was light green, embroidered with blue, red, and yellow beads. He wore a wide, gold bracelet with a few words inscribed in a language none of them understood.

“What about me?” Feuilly asked curiously as he buttoned his shirt. His white, wide pants were embroidered with red thread, as was his white shirt. In front of his hips was a wide, gold band on which a few stones shimmered — purple, blue, and white. He wore a knitted black shawl over his shoulders, embroidered with red thread on the emblem of fire, a green emblem of the earth, a blue emblem of water, and a white emblem of air. All was joined together by a large purple stone that held both sides of the scarf together directly on Feuilly’s chest. Several black, raven feathers hung from the stone down on gold strings.

“Feuilly, of I were into guys, you would be my first choice,” Grantaire said.

“Aren’t you into guys?” Feuilly laughed.

“Into Gods, please,” Grantaire said with his nose up.

“Especially the blond ones,” the older one said. Grantaire stuck out his tongue instead of answering.

“Gentlemen, I feel like we have a winner,” Courfeyrac said suddenly as he pointed to the next room. Combeferre stood in the middle of the room, buttoning his last button on his long sleeve. He wore long, white trousers that was almost glued to his body, embroidered with gray thread that almost vanished in white material. The white shirt with long, translucent sleeves ended in a purple and blue rhinestone on the wrists, instead of buttons. His entire chest was studded with blue and purple beads that glistened in all directions. His entire shoulders were studded with several clusters of these beads, combined with pink ones. Long threads studded with gold stones emanated from them. Each thread was finished with a stone of a different color. It looked like a glittering military jacket.

When Combeferre noticed that his three friends were looking at him, he smiled nervously. “But I said I wasn’t going.”

“You’re coming,” Courfeyrac said firmly. “Because if no one get catch by my super look, I’m sure you will. You can at least give them to me.”

“Dude, if you haven’t fucked in a few semesters, you’ll fix it in full swing today.”

“Stop it,” Combeferre said firmly, walking around them. But everyone noticed his red faces.

When the stairs came down, Isabelle was already waiting for them in the hall. “Oh, you look beautiful,” she said, almost moved as she looked at them. She walked over to Feuilly and carefully adjusted his collar. “This isn’t exactly traditional clothing, but Jean told me he was going to make some more modern changes, so I tried to adapt.”

“Did you make it in those few days?” Courfeyrac asked in surprise.

“It’s a production secret,” she said, stepping away from Feuilly so she could look at him. “Better.”

There was a knock on the door. Isabelle walked enthusiastically to the door. “Nice to see you, my children.” She entered the hall with two other people.

“Nicole!” Courfeyrac shouted, recognizing the familiar face.

“Hi,” Nicole greeted him sweetly.

“Wow,” he whispered suddenly as he looked at her. She was wearing a light green dress with freshly picked poppies and sage. Her hair was loose and she wore a wreath of green wicker, complete with a few rose flowers. She was barefoot, so he noticed a gold bracelet around her ankle. Her fingernails and toenails were painted in red, as were her lips. “You look beautiful.”

“I tell her that every day,” said the boy beside her, who hugged her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Nicole laughed.

“Olivier?” Grantaire said in surprise, recognizing the boy who had replaced him at work next to Enjolras two days ago. But it would be hard to find the boy in him now. He dropped his glasses somewhere, so did his T-shirt. His bare chest was painted blue, which together formed several ornaments. According to small prints, it was probably painted by Nicole. His pants were dark green and several leaves hung from his waist down. His palms were bandaged, as was a piece of his neck. He wore a green mask of geranium.

“I’m glad to see you all again,” he said kindly.

“Can we go?” Nicole asked enthusiastically, jumping to her feet a few times.

“Sure, the boys are still missing something here.” Isabelle went into the living room. In a moment she returned with four wreaths. She put the most glittering one on Courfeyrac’s head, gold and white stones glistening between the ribgrass, clover incarnate and wild carnation. A wreath of delicate daisies and cumin flowers fell on Feuilly’s head, complete with several sticking raven feathers. Combeferre looked at her confused as she walked over to him. “Trust me,” she told him softly, placing a massive wreath on his head with a goat’s skull, a blue-violet stone stuck to her forehead, from which several flowers of lilacs fell. Some tickled his ears and nape. When she walked over to Grantaire, she stroked his cheek and said quietly, “It’s just for now. When you go to the party, you’ll understand.” With that, she placed a small pea wreath tied with sweet peas on his head. “Perfect,” she said as she looked at them all. “I’ll be thinking about you all night.” She kissed everyone on the cheek and escorted them to the door. “Enjoy it, but be careful.”

“Fire is not for children,” Olivier added with a smile, and Isabelle returned it. “Come on, or we will miss everyone.”

“Everyone?” Combeferre asked.

“You’ll see,” Nicole winked at him, taking his hand and pulling him in front of her with a bounce.

“It was supposed to be me,” Courfeyrac moaned unhappily. “She has a boyfriend.” He turned to Olivier. “She has you!”

“For the rest of our lives,” he said seriously, but his gaze was gentle and calm. “But today? Today we belong to everyone.”

When they reached the end of the road, they could hear a low-pitched song in the distance. In a few minutes, they joined the procession, which was leaving in the direction of the glade. The whole village was dressed in green and white clothes, their hair and clothes full of flowers, and in their hands they held freshly torn flowers. Some of them had streamers in their hands, which they used to decorate the maypole a few days ago. The closer they got to the glade, the louder their singing, the more striking the verses and the more love in their words.

As soon as they reached the glade, they all cheerfully spread out around several rows of tables with food, fresh fruit, flowers, wine, and mead. The glasses were decorated with ornaments. Some of them had red dots at the bottom.

Nicole carefully pulled all four to the side so that they were close enough to all three bonfires, but didn’t enter the middle of the glade, which was marked with white streamers. “Look,” she whispered enthusiastically, pointing to the maypole. It rose to the orange sky. As the round sun reached the center of the wreath at the top and illuminated it with its warmth, it created a dark halo on it. Several rays of sunlight passed through the wreath, illuminating a piece of glade marked with white streamers. “It’s starting.”

Drums sounded through the forest. First in a slow, distant interval. However, each stroke was louder and faster. After a while, the trees themselves seemed to be drumming, their leaves rustling. Several men stepped out from behind the maypole, drums hanging on a leather strap around their shoulders, and drumming. As they all approached the maypole, they looked at the top, skipping the blow for three seconds, bowing their heads like knights paying homage to their queen. Then, suddenly, they turned abruptly, looked at everyone in the glade, and began drumming loudly, quickly, almost aggressively.

Several men jumped out of the woods. They were dressed just like Olivier, who was among them. They all wore leaf masks, some adorned with flowers or bird feathers. They looked around, carefully, as if afraid that someone might see them. They walked among the people, some they looked at, some even stopped. They slowly reached the center of the glade. Once they formed an imaginary wheel, they began to dance to the beat. Their dance seemed masculine, eager,  _ lustful _ . They looked like birds trying to seduce their partners. As the rhythm of the drums accelerated a little, the boys pulled long branches from their waists. They spun with them, raising their arms high, banging the ground several times with them, ten times on each side. One of the dancers jumped up to Nicole and stroked her cheek. Nicole untied the red ribbon from her dress and tied it to one of the ends of the branch. When Nicole answered with the same touch, he bowed and jumped into the middle of the circle again. They touched the shoulder of the man in front of them with their hands, bent down like beasts, and showed their branches in front of them.

Everyone turned in the direction they were pointing. The rhythm of the drums eased, sounding a little calmer. One of the men began to sing softly. A man emerged from the forest, tall, very handsome. His body was painted with black coal. Like the dancers, he wore green pants adorned with green leaves. However, he had a long green coat on his shoulders that touched the ground. He had a huge wreath on his head with a few long, bird’s feathers. He held a long, wooden stick in his hand that was taller than him. His chin was up, his look contemptuous. He walked slowly, calmly, but quite proudly. As he approached his dancers, he bowed his head and pointed to his wooden stick. The dancers unwound the streamers from their branches and tied them to his stick.

They went to the right table together. On it was a green tablecloth, several freshly picked yellow and red meadow flowers, a bowl of pine cones, pebbles, and red wine. Several lighted green and white candles blazed on it. In the middle was laid the skull of a deer with long antlers. The main man placed his hand on the skull and closed his eyes for a moment. Together with the singer, he sang several verses that sounded like a confession. As the men finished singing, everything fell silent. The man took the largest of the candles in his hands and lit ribbons on his stick with it. The fire slowly began to burn the stick. The dancers hummed deeply and pounded the branches on ground again. The chief of the men walked over to the bonfire where the straw dummy had been placed. He placed a stick on it. In a moment, the entire bonfire ignited.

All of them heard sound of flute from forest. The gentle tone of a small musical instrument caught everyone’s attention. They turned to a tone that came from the same spot where the man with the stick had come from. Every now and then the flute was louder, but it remained just as calm and soft. When one of the high tones sounded, a boy came into the glade, playing the triple flute expertly.

“Jehan,” said Feuilly suddenly, the first to recognize their friend’s delicate features. Unlike the other men, he wore a robe that was woven from several purple and blue translucent fabrics. The fabric was quilted with green and red thread, which formed patterns of just bloomed roses. Beneath it was a white shirt and long black pants quilted with glittering stones. Instead of a wreath, he had a gold chain on his head, from which five peacock feathers protruded. His hair was tangled in a bun and tied with pink roses, with a few glitter on his face and white mineral bracelets on his hands.

He expertly played the flute and walked the path marked by streamers. As he finished playing one of the tunes, he looked ahead, lifted his chin, and closed his eyes. Several girls in the crowd moved closer. They held baskets in their hands, which Isabelle had woven in the evenings a few days ago. Inside were torn meadow flowers. Jehan began to play another melody, calmer, more pleasant, a little more touching. Each time he passed the girl, she threw the contents of her baskets behind his back. A flower path formed behind him.

As soon as Jehan finished another song and stood before the man and his dancers, he bowed to them. The dancers repeated his gesture, the man tilting his head only slightly. Jehan turned his back on them, his eyes watching the beginning of the path. He began to sing a melody in his gentle voice, to which other girls joined. The girls knelt by the road and began to sing a little louder.

The first was to hear the typical thump of horses’ hooves. A white mare came out of the forest. Her mane and tail were entwined in several braids adorned with roses, cornflowers, and daisies. She was not saddled. Yet a girl sat on her back. None of the boys recognized her. She was beautiful. Her hair was as red as fire mixed with blood, her eyes were golden, her cheeks and mouth were red. She was wearing a translucent white dress, she was naked underneath it. She had a coat tied around her shoulders, tangled in torn flowers. Coat fell until the middle of the shins of the mare. She held only her mane in her hands. The mare walked slowly. The girl didn’t take her eyes off the man who set the bonfire on fire.

“She’s beautiful,” Courfeyrac whispered to everyone. The boys just nodded. Feuilly couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked like an ethereal being.  _ The goddess herself _ .

The mare stopped in front of Jehan. Jehan stroked the mare’s nose and stopped singing. The man walked around them and helped the girl jump off the horse’s back. He adjusted her hand, which she accepted with a smile and a nod. They kept looking each other in the eye. He led her to the second altar. It was richer and more colorful. A mirror was placed on the table, with two red candles in front of it - one lit, the other not; around them several small, white candles. The bowls contained pebbles, colored stones, egg shells, several meadow flowers. Red, white and pink roses were tied in vases along with hawthorn. In the middle of the table lay a dagger with a massive handle. At the beginning of the table lay thick wood decorated with colored ribbons. The girl examined everything thoroughly. The man bowed to her and left. The girl picked up the wood and lit the ribbons with a lighted red candle. In silence, she went to her bonfire and set the straw maiden on fire, who burned the entire bonfire.

Jehan motioned for the two girls to take the mare a little further. Then he turned to face the large border, which was still in front of the maypole. The sun was almost set. He looked at the girl, who threw a piece of wood on her bonfire and looked at him. She smiled and walked over to him. He knelt and let her stroke his hair. He closed his eyes and smiled. He enjoyed it.

“Dear ones,” she said suddenly. Her voice sounded like birdsong. As the first bite of chocolate. Delicate and sweet. It enhanced her beauty even more. “You welcomed me beautifully, entertained me and gave me a gifts. I look around and see only friends of nature, tenderness and love. I always think about whether to give you my presence and blessing for another fruitful year. And I come to the same conclusion every year. You dear ones - you are always worthy of it. Let your crop bear fruit, let your flowers keep the earth, let your cattle give birth to young, let your wives bear children, let your men sow seeds. Celebrate today my gifts of earth and love. Come with me today to begin a harvest that will be worthy of my name and kindness.”

She stopped stroking Jehan’s hair and turned to the bonfire. She went back to her altar, took a bowl of pebbles, placed an unlit red candle in it, placed a dagger against it, and crossed to the bonfire. She reached out, lifted her chin, and closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths. When a soft moan came from her mouth, Jehan began to sing with the girls again. They were joined by drummers who drummed calmly, almost as if trying to play a lullaby on such powerful instruments.

The girl nodded, put her dagger in her right palm, and turned her head to the left. Another girl came out of the woods. She was wearing a long, white dress embroidered in blue. Blue cape on her shoulders, white stones on it. She held a lighted white candle in her hands. She wore a white-blue mask that looked like a stormy sea. On the head a wreath of pulmonaria angustifolia. She closed her eyes when she reached the corner of the bonfire.

The girl looked at the far left corner of the border. Another girl came out of the woods, dressed just like the one before her. However, her dress was gray and the cape around her shoulders was white as foam. The embroidered stones were pink, as were the lighted candles in her palms. She had an eagle mask complemented by anemone flowers.

The girl looked into the far right corner. Another girl, this time in a green dress, with a brown cape embroidered with yellow stones, carried a green candle and a mask made of pine bark. She had a tangle of pink roses and a hieracium on her head.

The girl looked into the right corner closest to her. She smiled and motioned with her head to move closer. Even Jehan, who until then had been looking absently in front of him, noticed and looked in the same direction as the girl. To everyone’s surprise, a boy came to the corner of the bonfire. His hair was thick, restless, and blond. He was wearing a cat mask, gold stones instead of a snout, and a transparent cloth under his mask that covered his mouth. Even so, they could be seen to be as red as the rose tangled in a wreath on his head. He was wearing black pants, a white shirt, a gold belt around his shoulders and chest. He had a toga slung over his right shoulder, tied around his left side. It was deep red with white embroidery of flowers, the reverse was white with black flowers. Unlike the girls, who wore black sandals with colored bindings, he was barefoot. He wore a gold strap with the Sun around his ankle, which the girls wore around their necks. He, too, held a lighted yellow candle in his hand.

“That’s Enjolras,” Combeferre said suddenly. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Right?”

Grantaire turned to Jehan, who was watching them. “En-jol-ras?” He asked quietly, pointing in his direction. Jehan had to laugh at their surprised expressions. If the other girls didn’t sing, it would certainly spoil the atmosphere of the whole ritual. He just nodded and preferred to look back at the bonfire. He needed to concentrate.

“What the fuck is he doing there?” Grantaire asked in surprise. Nicole motioned for him to be quiet. “But I can’t be quiet, that’s—”

“Shut up,” Feuilly said suddenly, still keeping his eyes on the girl in front of the bonfire.

She first switched to the girl with the blue cape. “For moisture, morning dew and rain; for the tears of mistresses and the saliva of tastes; for human sweat and cold water.” She placed an unlit candle to hers. White wax dripped on the red candle and lit the wick. The girl with the cape held out her palm and the girl cut her with a dagger. Drops of blood dripped into a bowl of pebbles and a candle. As she left her, the girl knelt and blew out her candle.

She walked over to the girl with the white cape. The process was repeated. “For the breezes and winds that move the trees; for the air we breathe; for why we moans.” Pink wax mixed with white, the wick burned a little more, more drops of blood fell on the pebbles.

The girl walked over to the girl with a mask made of bark. “For subsistence, for fields and forests, for cattle that feed, and for people that feed. For grass and moss, for mushrooms and animals. For the life and death you give us.” Green wax fell on the candle, the lightest blood on the stones.

She looked deep into his eyes as the girl walked over to Enjolras. They stared at each other for a long time before the girl smiled at him and said, “For the fire that burns in our fireplaces and hearts; for the love that warms and burns us; for protection, cleansing; for the flame that will engulf us today.” Enjolras added wax from his candle, which made the fire hiss faintly, and held out his outstretched palm to the girl.

Grantaire looked away as the tip of the dagger touched his delicate skin. “Is something wrong?” Combeferre asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” he whispered almost inaudibly. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look ahead. The girl was already leaving Enjolras, who was also kneeling, but unlike the girls, only on one leg. He looked like a knight confessing to his king. He looked at the girl, who appeared again in front of the center of the bonfire.

The voices fell silent. The drums added to the strength. The girl placed a bowl of fire on the ground in front of the bonfire. Jehan rose with all who were kneeling at the border. They took a few steps back and picked up the wreaths. They were decorated with flowers and antlers. Each of them left the bonfire and went to Jehan, who opened his hands and the girls left. Each chose one of the dancers, to whom she placed a wreath on his head. He thanked her with a kiss on the hand.

Enjolras stared at Jehan for a moment, noticing how he held the wreath tightly in his hands. “You have nothing to fear,” he whispered so that only he could hear.

The boys noticed. Enjolras looked around for a moment before finding them in the crowd. He immediately focused on Grantaire. Enjolras headed in their direction. He motioned inconspicuously with his hand to Grantaire to take a few steps forward. Grantaire blinked at him in confusion. With Enjolras just a few steps away, Courfeyrac pushed Grantaire. He staggered, but fortunately kept his balance. Suddenly he was standing in front of Enjolras. He reached for his head and removed the green wreath, which he threw to the ground. Carefully and slowly, placed another on his head. A heavier wreath of young wicker, decorated with yarrow, cornflower, dianthus, bladder campion and bellflower. A long antler protruded from it. Grantaire felt his heavyweight.

But he didn’t care. He looked into Enjolras’s face, trying to figure out what all this was supposed to mean. Why was he dressed like that? Why did he represent fire on bonfire? Why did he let himself be cut in the palm of his hand and damage his perfect and clean skin? What was the wreath supposed to mean? Did it mean anything? Did he  _ want  _ it to mean anything?

But he was unable to answer any of the questions. Enjolras left him without a word after a moment. He left Grantaire standing there and returned to the girl. He stood to her right, staring at the bonfire. It was Combeferre who pulled Grantaire back to their group. “Beautiful,” Nicole said dreamily as she inspected the work on Grantaire’s wreath. He just grunted.

“My husband,” the girl said suddenly, rising and reaching for the man who had set the bonfire on fire. He picked up a glass of wine on his altar and walked over to it. He drank, handed her a cup, and she drank too. They intertwined their fingers and kissed. The wine, which they couldn’t swallow, ran down their chins to their taut necks and exposed bare chests. When she pulled away from him, she smiled and said only, “Thank you.” With that, she turned to Jehan, who handed her two dry woods. Together with the man, they crossed to the largest bonfire, lit woods by candlelight in a bloody bowl, and lit it. Within a moment, the bonfire was set on fire and began to sow the scent of burnt wood and the warmth around everyone around her.

“Let the harvest begin.”

The sun went down. The night came.

Celebration of fertility has begun.

Some danced around fires, others sang, played musical instruments, drank wine and mead, ate fruits, and formed clumps that whispered something, but always laughed out loud. Some held hands, some stroked their arms. Everyone laughed, feasted, had fun, danced, sang.

Grantaire’s heart pounded. Everything caressed and encouraged his artistic spirit. He wanted to take a bunk to the glade and try to paint everything on canvas. It had been a long time since he had been struck by such a flurry of inspiration. He knew he wouldn’t be able to convey to the screen even a tenth of the feelings he was experiencing; but he believed. And it was a new emotion that completely engulfed him. He didn’t know what to do with it. It burned him on the chest and shaked his knees.

“Grantaire!” Grantaire winced. Only now did he notice that he was standing alone in the same place. He looked in front of him, Jehan waving at him and pointing to the wine glass in his hand, the others standing around him drinking from the same glasses. Their faces were a little red. Grantaire walked over to them and took a glass from Jehan, which he drank on one gulp. It was a thick, red wine flavored with a little raspberry and blueberry. “Weren’t you the one who told me that whoever drinks wine at one gulp is a barbarian?”

“Damn all the saints, what the fuck was that?!” Grantaire shouted suddenly as the wine revived his dry neck and he found his voice. His fingers began to knock a little faster. “What, all this, this mea—”

“Calm down, Grantaire,” Combeferre said, placing his palm on his shoulder.

“How can I be calm? When I have so many annoying questions in my head! How can I be calm when I feel the pushing in my head?”

“Isn't that because of the weight of the wreath?” Courfeyrac asked, pointing to his head.

Only now did Grantaire realize that he had a new wreath on his head. A new wreath given to him by Enjolras. Enjolras, who was looking at him through the cat mask with that strange look. The look he almost begged him to ask for permission to do something he was trying to deny. “Shit,” he whispered to himself, wanting another drink. The glass was already empty.

“Here,” Jehan said, handing him his glass. Grantaire drank from it immediately. Jehan looked at him carefully.

“All right,” Grantaire said suddenly, calming down a bit. He loved that in wine. It always brought him to the right thoughts. Or he forgot thanks to it. He liked both variants. Now he had no idea what he would have preferred. “Can you explain to me what the hell this was?”

“The ritual start of a fertility celebration,” Jehan said proudly. “Well, it wasn’t entirely traditional. As far as I remember, everyone always started it differently, my mother is more romantic, my father is more dominant. Each of them conceives Beltaine a little differently. But I tried to bring something of myself into it, to refresh it a bit and…” He looked around. “Rejuvenate it,” he laughed. “In recent years, many young couples or families with grown-up children have moved to the village. I wanted to introduce them to something a little more modern.”

“But it still had enough traditions,” Combeferre said to reassure him. He saw how nervous he looked around. He kept researching if everyone was having fun, had something to eat, had something to drink, and if everything was going well. Everything fell from his shoulders now and it was time to enjoying himself. But why couldn’t he? He still seemed to be thinking of something.

“Jean!” Nicole jumped around Jehan’s shoulders, hugging him tightly. “That was so wonderful,” she said, moved, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t speak so loudly. Her high-pitched tone caused goosebumps to everyone around her.

Jehan blushed at her words. “I’m so glad,” he said honestly.

“What do you think about the dancing?” Olivier asked, appearing beside her, kissing her on the cheek, but examining Courfeyrac.

“Me?” The younger man asked in surprise, and Olivier just nodded. “It was - interesting. For art commentary, you have this one here.” He pointed to Grantaire, who was still inhaling and looking like fish.

“I’m interested in your opinion,” Olivier said, smiling at him. “You look like someone who can appreciate body movements.”

Courfeyrac blinked in confusion, but before he could ask anything, a girl who rode the mane before, was slowly approaching their group. Feuilly poked Courfeyrac in the arm and nodded in her direction. They both looked at her in silence. When they noticed her, Jehan smiled at her and accepted her outstretched arms so they could hug. Just for a moment. Neither of them wanted to admit that they were thinking about how it felt to feel her warm arms and breasts on their chest. Feuilly blushed and preferred to drink his wine while Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Oh, Florence, you were amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling away from him. “Are these your friends?” Her voice was perhaps even honeyier than before.

“Yes.”

Grantaire finally shook his head and returned to reality. He looked at Florence and said, “You’re naked.” Jehan blushed and Combeferre rubbed his head with his fingers.

“I guess so,” she said with a smile, completely shameless. “I don’t think we have to hide behind anything today. Especially since I’m the Goddess of Love herself today, Rhiannon. Seductive, beautiful Queen of the Underworld.” She took a step forward and wanted to reach out for Grantaire. Maybe in the hope of stroking his chest and touching the beating vein in his neck. But Jehan stopped her hand. He motioned to look at Grantaire’s wreath. Florence looked at him and just smiled. “I see.” With that, she withdrew her hand back to her body. “You were endowed with fire itself.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire corrected her. He snatched a glass of wine from Feuilly’s hands and drank it quickly. “What the hell was Enjolras doing there?”

“He offered,” said Jehan. “Yesterday evening.”

“Is that why you’ve been gone so long? Why didn’t you tell one of us?”

“All you need on the bonfire is virgin blood,” Florence told him.

“Virgin blood? Great, what about - wait, what? ”Grantaire asked in surprise.

Jehan just nodded. “It’s long overdue for human or animal sacrifices to be given to the Deities. However, my parents still maintain a blood ritual, in which virgin blood revives all the elements that will contribute to balance.”

“And then for the better good, the right harvest and fertility; sacrifice their virginity tonight.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes at her. “You mean he will fuc—”

“Wait, so is that true?” Courfeyrac asked suddenly, who, as usual, always took a moment to realize all the connections. “So, the way we joked about Enjolras and his  _ innocent _ and no relationship history, we were telling the truth?” Jehan just nodded. “So he’s…” He paused.

“Virgin,” Combeferre said. Jehan nodded again.

“Wow,” Courfeyrac breathed in surprise. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

“You know how he’s like.”

“I always joked about him to be cold as ice.”

“I know,” Combeferre said. “I mean, how he can’t express his feelings. You know he can’t talk about it. He once tried to tell me that he respected me very much and thanked me for everything; it was such a hard time for him, when he argued with his parents, he didn’t pass exams at school and he had to leave the apartment, so he lived with me for a while. Instead, he stared at me for about half an hour without blinking, and then he asked if I was insured for accidents. I really had no idea what to think about it at the time. Imagine him in a relationship. He has to find a boyfriend who understands that he is expressing his feelings through deeds no words.”

Grantaire winced.  _ He expresses his feelings through deeds _ , he kept repeating in his head. He looked at Combeferre. Their eyes met. Combeferre looked at the wreath Enjolras had placed on his head during the ritual. They both had the same question - What exactly did that mean?

“Let’s dance,” Nicole said suddenly, grabbing Jehan’s hand. “I want to dance until morning!”

“Come on,” Olivier said enthusiastically, looking at Courfeyrac. “Looks like you don’t have a partner.”

Courfeyrac blinked again in confusion. Wasn’t his partner standing next to him? Why didn’t he notice her at all and still watched him with his deep, green eyes? “Sure, let’s go.” Without asking Combeferre, he took his hand and began dragging him to Nicole, who was already dancing with Jehan around a small, male bonfire where she sang and two men played on the flute and lute.

Feuilly looked at Florence. She stood motionless, looking around, a slight smile on her face. “Your horse…” He began. Florence looked at him. Her beautiful yellow eyes absolutely enchanted him. What did he just wanted to say?

Florence noticed how he lost his voice. She laughed. “Do you want to take a ride?” She suggested.

“I’d love to,” he said immediately.

Florence went to the beginning of the forest, where a mare was tied with a rope around a tap. The eye was quite free, and if the mare wanted it, it would have long since escaped. Instead, she obediently stood still, waiting for her owner to come for her. Florence stroked the mare’s chest, which she tossed her tail several times. She removed the rope from her body. Feuilly stood beside her. “I’ll help you,” he offered, taking Florence around his waist. In one motion, he landed her mare on her back.

“You’re strong,” she said admiringly.

“We, who work by hands for living, usually are,” he said a little smugly, and then jumped on the mare’s back. He sat behind Florence, who leaned slightly on his shoulder and looked him in the face. “Where we are going?” He asked her, trying not to notice how fast his heart was pounding. She must have heard it.

“She’ll know,” she said mysteriously, urging the mare with a gentle tap. The mare turned to the right and headed into the forest.

Feuilly didn’t even notice at the moment that everyone was watching them. Leaving with the Goddess herself has always been the privilege of only a few men. When the clatter of horses’ hooves was not heard, they all returned to the celebration.

Grantaire stood alone in the glade. He watched what was happening around him and wondered what he should do. His head was spinning. It hurt from a heavy wreath, and yet he was unable to take it off. After all, it was from Enjolras. “Enjolras,” he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. Cat mask. Red clothes. Golden clothes. Virgin blood. Loss of virginity. “Aw.” His temple began to throb. He should leave. Take as much wine as possible and go back to the house, get drunk and forget everything from this night. It would be better than drowning in questions that provoke his migraines.

Someone touched his shoulder. Grantaire opened his eyes, slowly turning his head to the side. A black, leather-gloved hand held his shoulder. He frowned. He turned and looked at the person behind him.

Enjolras. Still with a mask on his face and in ritual clothes. He looked at him through the holes in his mask. His blue eyes twinkled. Grantaire had no idea if the surrounding fires, which gave his body a supernatural beauty, were to blame, or if he saw a little tears in them - from what? From pain? Expectation? He swallowed dry. He took a breath to say something, but Enjolras put a finger to his lips. The leather gloves were cold. Like Enjolras’ touches. Grantaire was silent. Enjolras motioned with his other hand to come with him. With that, he withdrew his hand back to his body and turned back to him. After a few steps, he stopped and looked behind him. Grantaire finally realized what Enjolras wanted from him. He placed the glass on one of the altars and followed Enjolras into the forest.

“Here.” Florence pointed ahead. Feuilly noticed that there was a string stretched along the birches, from which carefully stitched oak leaves fell. Florence grabbed Feuilly’s arm and jumped off the mare, stroking her tap gently several times. “Wait for us.” She looked at Feuilly. “Follow me.” She went behind the canvas.

Feuilly jumped off the mare, stroked her back, and looked into her big, black eyes. “Should I expect anything?” He asked cautiously. The mare just moved her ears. Feuilly scratched her nose and slowly uncovered the foliage that hid a paved path in the grass, which was overgrown with bushes with small, yellow flowers. The further he went, the more he felt cold. His nose began to tingle. Did he feel - moisture?

After a few steps, he reached a pond that was carefully bounded by black, slippery rocks. Florence’s flower coat was placed on them. Several water lilies were swimming in the pond. Behind the pond was a rock from which several springs flowed, creating the effect of a waterfall. The air around the water was colder. Goosebumps sprang up over his body.

“I’m here.” Feuilly looked back at the pond. Florence emerged from under the water, red lipstick washed from her lips, her eyes a little brighter, and this time her hair flowed around her face and shoulders. She was smiling at him. “Will you join me?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Florence laughed at his remark. Without a word, she took a few tempos and swam to where she could stand. She walked carefully onto the rocks and stepped out of the water. She was still wearing a translucent dress. The dress revealed her beautiful body before, but they were still loose enough to hide something. But now they clung to her slender figure, encircling her broad hips and firm breasts. As soon as she came out of the water, she stood on one of the large stones. She kept her eyes on Feuilly’s face, which reddened with her next step, his chest rising faster and his eyes widening.

Feuilly moistened his lips with his tongue. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. However, in the silence of the forest, his words could be heard quite clearly. Florence reached out. He accepted her. Her hand was wet, cold and soft. She forced him to come in front of her. She stroked his cheek, which was beginning to scratch a little. Her fingers moved to his ear, then to his red hair, which began to curl with dampness. She untied the scarf around his shoulders. As soon as she took it off, she threw it to the ground. Then she moved to the gold belt around his hips. When she took it off, Feuilly finally touched her. He stroked her wet hair with his palms, slid to her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated, kissing her. His full lips merged with her frozen ones. Their kiss deepened immediately. They began kissing with their tongues, stroking the other’s arms, shoulders, and neck with their hands.

He helped her take off his shirt, kicked his pants somewhere, and quickly got rid of the wreath he had almost forgotten about. When he fell to the ground, Florence stared at him for a moment. Something flashed in her eyes that Feuilly didn’t recognize.

He didn’t want to think about anything. He expertly unzipped her dress, breathing a little faster with each button. He could see everything through the translucent dress, yet he felt that he could see her exposed skin for the first time. His fingers touched her smooth, girlish skin, which in some places was cute pink. When he unzipped the last button at her waist, he helped pull her wet dress over her shoulders. The dress landed next to her ankles, revealing her full beauty. Feuilly looked at her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a seductive woman in front of him like Florence.

Feuilly began to stroke her shoulders, gently touching her breasts, which fit exactly in his hands. He ran his thumbs along her lines. He moved his right hand a little lower, to her side, then to her navel, and when he wanted to touch the most intimate; Florence stopped him. She took his hand and walked slowly into the water with him.

Feuilly could feel the water cold. But due to the excited excitement, he hardly noticed. As soon as he was up to his ribs in the water, he stopped. He pulled her close to his body and pressed her to his chest. He could feel her hard nipples stabbing him in the chest. Her fragile body was like a valuable vase, which he tried to protect with his arms. He hugged her, kissed her mouth, examining every part of her body with his hands.

Florence was the first to moaned aloud. Feuilly looked at her with a smile. Slowly, so that nothing would happen to either of them, he began to push her to the edge of the pond. When she hit her back on the hard stones, Feuilly grabbed her thighs and lifted her up so that she leaned over him. She held him around her shoulders, her legs around her hips, and felt his excitement hit her belly.

“You going to make love to the Goddess, aren’t you going to pray before?” She asked with a seductive smile. There were several flaming flames in her eyes.

“This is my prayer,” he said as he ran his fingers into her warmth and Florence moaned loudly. She arched her back, dropped his head to her chest, and dug her fingers into his hair. Feuilly was breathing fast, taking care of her breasts with his lips and her warmth with his fingers.

After a few minutes, Florence moaned loudly and he felt how much she liked it; with one hand he gripped her tightly by the thigh and with the other he supported her so that she was still in the same position and didn’t injure each other with stones. The first thrust was gentle, tender, she could barely feel it. After a few more, as he got deeper and deeper, she closed her eyes tightly and began to moaned into his ear. Feuilly supported her with a firmer grip. He started to moaning too.

Feuilly didn’t know how much time had passed, but the moment he felt swollen veins in his hands, burning in his groin, and intoxicating excitement; her body was hot, wet not only from the water, and her hair clung to the skin of both; they were illuminated by the moon, which began to shine directly above them.

“So, can I write anything there?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Please don’t write anything about wanting you to have a bigger—”

“—I’m happy with everything on my body!”

“—Intellect,” Combeferre said. “Good to know what you’re thinking about.”

“Don’t be surprised, I can't stop thinking about  _ that _ .” With that, he leaned over the piece of paper and scratched something at him with a goose feather. He quickly blew out the paper a hide it in his palms.

“What did you write?” Combeferre asked curiously.

“Suddenly you’re interested in my wishes? Weren’t you the ones who said something about the fact that you don’t really want to see my wishes in real life?”

“Suddenly you remember something more than a menu in a Thai restaurant?”

“Guys,” Jehan laughed, standing between them. “Don’t argue.”

“This isn’t an argument,” Courfeyrac said immediately, squeezing himself against Jehan so that his shoulder fell on Combeferre’s chest. “That’s how we prove love,” he said again in his flirtatious voice.

“Go,” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac just grinned at him. With that, he went next to the fire, around which people sang and played. Nicole stood beside him, holding the same piece of paper in her hand as he did. They said something to each other, laughed, and pressed the paper tightly to their chests, closed their eyes, and threw it into the fire after a moment. She took his hand and began to dance with him around the fire. “I can’t do that,” Combeferre told himself.

“What?” Jehan asked curiously, who could hear him because of their position.

Combeferre looked at his chest, where Jehan looked at him with his innocent, big eyes. “Do you know how Bahorel dances only when he is forced to do so?” Jehan nodded. “Same with me. But I can still get entangled in my own feet.”

“I’ll help you,” Jehan said, taking his elbow. He walked with him in front of the fire, put the paper in his hands, joined it, and gripped it tightly and placed it against his chest. He grunted weakly and threw it into the fire. Combeferre repeated everything after him. Jehan took him by the palm of his hand and began dancing with him around the fire. From the beginning, Combeferre focused on his every move, constantly trying to look at his feet; but when he noticed how cheerfully Jehan looked before him, he sometimes felt the girl’s palms on his back trying to support him in the next dance step; he relaxed and smiled himself. Although the pace of his legs still didn’t caught the beat of music, it finally began to look like a dance.

Courfeyrac sat down on the ground in a few minutes, still close enough to the fire to look at them, but away from feeling strong heat. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand and began to fan himself. “Hot?” Olivier asked, who suddenly sat down next to him with two glasses of wine in his hand and handed one to him.

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac said wearily, drinking almost all the wine in one place. “Oh, hell,” he sighed. “Dancing has never been able to do this to me.”

“Really?”

“Well, I'm used to going to clubs, but this is something else.”

“Better?”

“Definitely!” He didn’t lie. The whole atmosphere of the evening completely engulfed him. He felt like he had belonged here a long time ago. If he went to see his old friends again and they would end up where they once stopped. He hadn’t felt this way free and full of energy for a long time. “My legs just hurt so infernally! I’m old enough to not stand a few dances yet or what?” In that, Courfeyrac noticed Nicole standing a little further away from the fire. She said something to Jehan and Combeferre. Jehan smiled at her, but Combeferre frowned a little. He took a breath to say something, but instead of speaking, Nicole took his hands and began pulling him toward the forest. Jehan stood behind him and began patting him on the shoulder blades, as if trying to reassure him that everything was fine. He was still smiling at him. “Where are they going?” Courfeyrac asked curiously.

“It suited you very well during the dance.” Olivier ignored his question and moved closer to the brown haired man inconspicuously. “Really.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac said, looking into his face. “Where did they go?”

“Do you know I’ve never seen a man move so gracefully?” He ignored his question again. “I’ve been dancing since I was a child, and every time I looked at the boys, their dances were rougher than the girls. But I always liked to look at both. Everyone had their own charm. You have one too.” He approached him again. Courfeyrac was beginning to feel his warmth. “You looked beautiful,” he said in a softer voice.

Courfeyrac blinked at him in confusion. “Are you - are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Maybe.” Courfeyrac blinked again, and before he could ask anything else, Oliver touched his cheek and kissed him tenderly. Courfeyrac jumped. He certainly didn’t expect anything like that. But he was even more surprised that Olivier’s lips were -  _ so soft. _ Olivier pulled away from him. Courfeyrac thought maybe so they could talk again. Olivier, however, took his cheeks in his hands and stroked his temples. Courfeyrac closed his eyes under the touch and immediately felt him kiss him again. He immediately began stroking his lips, nibbling gently until Courfeyrac opened his lips. He got into them with his tongue and began to examine every crevice he could reach. Courfeyrac placed his hand on his hip and, without planning, deepened their kiss. He pressed himself harder against his body, their chests rubbing against each other so they could hear the other’s heartbeat. The palm dug more into his side and squeezed him. Olivier moaned, opening his mouth a little more and letting Courfeyrac take complete control of him.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac whispered suddenly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said several times in a row, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You have a girl.  _ Girlfriend. _ ”

“And?”

Courfeyrac looked into his eyes. Maybe look for something like - guilt? Shame? But he didn’t see any of it. Just a lot of excitement. He himself could feel his heart pounding in excament, and in his trousers he felt the familiar twitches. “Perhaps this—”

“Jean told me you often talk about orgies.”

“Yes, but as a joke,” Courfeyrac said seriously. He wasn’t very often like that. He was always the one who tried to make everyone laugh, keep them in a good mood, and tell jokes that sometimes weren’t even funny, just to bring them to other thoughts. But now he knew there was a time when he needed to be serious. He didn’t like it. He felt strange. “I would never go into anything like that. Theoretically, it’s a good idea, and I might be able to look at it, but I couldn’t do it. I know I can’t. Because I can’t do it in front of so many people. And before you ask me how I can know - I know. Because I was a little younger and stupider few years ago.” It was one of his worse memories of his high school years. When they finished the last year, everyone received letters accepting them for college, they decided to celebrate with all his classmates and a lot of drinks. Several of them got drunk to such a state that they didn’t even know about themselves. Courfeyrac was one among them. In the morning he awoke naked, covered with dried fluids all over his body, with bruises on his hands and scratches on his back. Around him lay several classmates in the same condition as him. He quickly found his clothes and left the house of one of them without another word, not even knowing how he get there. He felt sick several times along the way, and when he finally got to his bed, he was exhausted and wanted to sleep. At that moment, photos of last night came to everyone's online conversation. Under the influence of alcohol, several of them decided to do things they wouldn’t be able to do in a worse condition. Courfeyrac was one of them. Even though no one mentioned it anymore and the photographs disappeared into the unknown; he had felt strange ever since. Every time he went _hunting_ , he knew that even if he was interested in more girls or boys, he couldn’t have sex with more than one person. He always felt humiliated. Even though he knew there was no reason to feel that way. He had never talked to anyone about it — not even with friends, and not with his family of course — and so he was getting through his own trauma slowly. His coping mechanism was telling vulgar jokes, have one-night stands, and make fun of sex. It was easier.

“You’re not stupid,” Olivier said.

Courfeyrac chuckled. “You want to slept with me. This is a typical sentence that I use before. You’ll probably have to try harder.”

“Come with me,” Olivier told him, rising. Courfeyrac followed him wordlessly beyond the bonfire. They were far enough to have some privacy, but they still got enough heat and light from the bonfire. Olivier took Courfeyrac by the shoulder, pressed him against a broad trunk of an old tree, and immediately knelt before him. He started playing with a button on his pants.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac tried to stop him, putting his hand in his hair.

“I’ve liked you since I saw you,” Olivier said, raising his head so he could look into Courfeyrac’s eyes. His face was flushed with excitement. “Do you know how you talked to Nicole? And how did I sit down with the blonde of your group?” Courfeyrac just nodded. “I asked about all you, but inconspicuously mainly about you. I wanted to know if you would be interested in that at all. Nicole was trying on you in the meantime. Because, whether our relationship is free and about compromises, we want the other to be protected. I wouldn’t just give myself to someone she didn’t like, just as I wouldn’t give her. She needed to know if everything would be okay. And we agreed that it is.” With that, he dug his chin into his lower abdomen. “So if you agree… I don’t want to do anything you don’t like.”

“So Nicole…” He swallowed dryly. “Now with Jehan and Combeferre…” He didn’t finish. In fact, he found it absurd to think that the two most tender men in their group would be able to make love to a someone’s girlfriend. It was completely against their beliefs. Or not?

“I let her do something she’d longed for,” he said, bowing his head. His nose now touched the hem of his underwear. He inhaled his scent gently. He could feel the fabric softener mixed with sweat. He smiled. “She longs for a child I can’t give her,” he said simply. “Your friends will take her to a place where she will be able to fulfill this dream.”

Courfeyrac took a breath to say something, but Olivier was faster with his mouth. He took the hem of his underwear between his lips and pulled it down. Courfeyrac’s pride slapped his chin. It was a little hardened. That position, that vision of it will happen; excited him.

Olivier wasn’t waiting. He parted his lips and took him in one thrust all over into his mouth. It was obvious that this was not the first time he had done it. Courfeyrac leaned his head against the trunk and closed his eyes. He dug his fingers into Olivier’s hair and tugged at it several times. “My God, you’re good,” he whispered, pursed his lips quickly. Even though he knew what was going on here and what was full all night about, he asked, a lot, until Jehan told him that he regretted that he had accepted his help at all; this didn’t want to curse. It felts unholy. And he didn’t want to spoil this evening with praising  _ his absolutely perfect lips _ . It’s been a long time since he’s had a man in bed, and even longer when someone cared for him like that. He licked his length with his tongue slowly, massaging his swollen veins, moving his head without touching the teeths. He dug his fingers into his thighs and held them in place so he could do whatever he wanted with his most intimate part.

Instead of a decent warning, he tugged at Olivier’s hair only a few times. Olivier looked at him with his big, green eyes and didn’t slow down. Courfeyrac knew it would be appropriate to say something, but instead, he just opened his mouth and watched the beauty kneel before him. Olivier knew what would follow and didn’t intend to finish until he reach the desired end. In a few seconds, his wish was granted. Courfeyrac arched his back and spilled inside his mouth.

Olivier pulled away from him, leaving only the last few drops in the corner of his lips. He wiped them off, licked his thumb, and stood up. When Courfeyrac was able to breathe again, they smiled at each other. Courfeyrac’s gaze slid to Olivier’s crotch. “So, what do we do with you now?” He asked, smiling mischievously.

Olivier returned the smile.

“We shouldn’t go that far,” Combeferre said, noticing that he could only see the glade through the flickering reflections of the flames between the trees.

“Just a little more,” Nicole said, walking a few steps in front of him, walking expertly through the woods. Suddenly she jumped several times and laughed happily. She sped up and came to one of the trees, which hung a hanging red canvas. She uncovered it and hid behind it. Combeferre stopped in front of it. Where did Nicole actually lead him? She told him she had to show something to him and Jehan. Something he will like. What did they have for him?

He shrugged. The answer was simple - just look behind the canvas. Combeferre followed her and entered another glade, which was illuminated by moonlight instead of fire. Rose petals were strewn everywhere. The place was scented with lilacs that came down tied from a tree. In the center were several glass jars in which thick, lighted, white candles were burning. Their warmth and flame was enough to touch—

Combeferre winced. Several people lay around the candles. Naked, excited, girls and boys, younger and older. There were at least twenty of them. But Combeferre couldn’t count them exactly. Everywhere he saw pieces of legs, arms, chest, shoulders, hair, intime parts. Everyone kissed, touched, laughed, drank wine, smoked weed. The wreaths on their heads were crooked or scattered somewhere in the distance. On the contrary, some kept their masks and didn’t try to take them off, even in such an intimate moment.

His eyes found Nicole. She let herself be undressed by one black-haired girl, while the other slowly stroked her hair and reached her hips with her hands. One looked at her dazedly from the wine, the other through a tree bark mask. After a while, he found the elements in the girls. Virgins who were to sacrifice their virginity today for the  _ greater good _ , as Florence said.

He took another step back. But he came across something. He jumped in fright. He turned around. Behind him stood Jehan. “Is something wrong?” He asked in the most innocent way.

“Is something wrong?” Combeferre repeated in disbelief. “Can’t you see that?”

“I see it,” Jehan said, looking at the intertwining bodies. “And?”

“And? Doesn’t that surprise you at all?”

“Should it?” Jehan asked. “It’s a fertility holiday. You told me you had read about him. You certainly didn’t miss the tradition of casual sex and orgie.”

“I didn’t miss it,” he admitted. “But I didn’t wanted to read about it in slightest. Because it’s something I’ve never been very interested in.”

“Really?” Jehan suddenly asked a little more rudely. “Aren’t you lying?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re afraid to admit you have no control over something.”

“Jehan, what—”

“Three months ago, my mother called me that this year’s Beltaine would be significant. For me, for Enjolras, for you, for Grantaire. I didn’t understand what she meant by the time, because you never showed interest in the culture of our religion, and I never told you about the experiences of the celebrations. She told me I would understand when the holiday approached. And really. Call it what you want - fate, prediction,  _ magic  _ \- but you were here. Your hands were able to create my first celebration in which we worship love.” With each word, Jehan took steps forward. Combeferre, without realizing it, backed away. His feet suddenly hit a rock, he staggered and landed on a rock that was stacked on top of each other and covered in sheepskin. He braced himself quickly on his elbows and wanted to get up. But someone had already touched his shoulder, another his thigh and hip.

“What about Feuilly and Courfeyrac?”

“Their time hasn’t come yet,” Jehan said a little more gently. He walked around the naked bodies, which began to crawl toward Combeferre. As soon as he reached him, he knelt down and forced Combeferre to lie down. Jehan removed the wreath from his head and placed it on his lap. “We worship love.” Jehan revealed Combeferre’s forehead with his fingers, stroking his delicate skin several times. “It simply came to our notice then. We are absorbed by the heat that burns within us. In our hearts, in our bodies, in our weaknesses.” Jehan moved a little closer to his face. They were the closest they had ever known each other. He never noticed that Combeferre had freckles on his nose and gold droplets in his blue eyes. “Sometimes you have to get the demon you're trying to tame out of yourself in order to be  _ normal _ again.”

“I’m not taming anything.” But Combeferre knew that his voice was not convincing. “I’m not taming anything,” he repeated a little more rudely. But it still sounded pretty fake.

“Really?” Jehan asked in a neutral voice. He suddenly dug his fingers into Combeferre’s hair and tugged hard. Combeferre closed his eyes, hissed, and exhaled excitedly. Jehan noticed a twitch in his tight pants. “Then why are you excited now?” He whispered. Combeferre looked at him, startled. He began to breathe rapidly. His lips began to dry. “Combeferre, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said softly again, releasing his fingers again so that he could stroke his hair this time. “I know you’re hiding it. You’re not afraid that someone will figure it out. Actually, you’d love to. If someone was pulling you— ” He dug his fingers into his hair again. “—Hurting—” He dug his fingers into his shoulder with the fingers of his other hand. “—Choking—” He moved his hand from his shoulder to his neck and squeezed it tightly. Under his fingernails, he could feel his skin, which was soft enough to tear apart in one hard move. “—As long as you want.” Combeferre sighed happily. “No. That’s not your fear. Your fear is your strength. That you could hurt someone. It already happened, hasn’t it?” He released him and began stroking his cheek with both hands. "You’ve hurt someone before, and now you’re scared.”

“Claire,” Combeferre whispered with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was because he closed his eyes so tightly, or over the memory of the girl he had loved for so long. Everything was fine until she found out about his  _ taste _ . He tried to talk to her about it. Not to come to a compromise, but to make it clear to him that he will never experience anything like this, and it is immoral to think about it. He accepted it as his own. And so every time he thought of something rougher, raw,  _ more for him _ ; he was ashamed. He hid in the toilet, trying to exhale the excitement that burned him. He fought against himself so that he would never do anything wrong.

And then he found out that Claire had revealed everything to her friends. They made fun of him behind his back and laughed at him. When he found out, it broke him. He couldn’t think of anything else all day, and the moment she appeared between the doors of his room, instead of breaking up with her, he take her. In a way he would rather forget. He still had scratches on his back for a month. Claire then admitted that she had enjoyed it, and they could add some  _ spice _ to their sex live. But Combeferre kicked her out. He threw her naked in front of the house, threw her things at her and didn’t open it for her. Never.

Since then, he has tamed all his desires. Sometimes he wanted to bite someone, sometimes he wanted someone to strangle him. Sometimes he wanted to swear vulgarly, sometimes he wanted to be praised. Two characters mingled in him, and they both terrified him. He tamed them in a simple way - he didn’t date. When it was unbearable, his right hand held him. But once every four months, he needed to relax. There was a specialized club where he found two girls and one boy. They always do everything he wanted.

But he always felt so weak then.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jehan said softly, noticing Combeferre’s eyes filling with tears. His gaze was absent and painful. He knew he remembered everything. “There’s no reason why you should keep this a secret.” With that, he leaned over Combeferre and kissed his forehead. “You got me.”

“And me,” Nicole said, suddenly standing in front of him. Combeferre examined her. She stood naked between his legs. She knelt and slowly began to undress him with another girl.

Combeferre tried to stop them. But Jehan took his hand and intertwined their fingers. “Let them do that.” He kissed his forehead again. “You need it.”

They folded the laundry carefully and carried it somewhere where the candlelight no longer reached. “You’re beautiful,” someone who bit his ear suddenly whispered. “I feel like I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” someone said at his thigh, which he began massaging. “How many women and men could taste you?” Someone asked at his ankle, which he was showering with kisses. “Why aren’t there a few scars on this body? You deserves them,” someone laughed in a higher voice and bit him in the nipple. “It’s a beautiful place right here,” someone said, kissing his birthmark over the pelvis. “I don’t know if I want to be in you more or you in me.”

Combeferre moaned. He jerked his hands from the nervousness that had built up inside him. This was new. He had never experienced this excitement before. “Why,” Jehan whispered suddenly. Combeferre looked at him. The younger of them smiled and bent down a little. “Why aren’t those mouths swollen from kissing?” He didn’t want to know the answer. He ran his fingers over his parched lips and kissed them immediately. Combeferre jerked again.

Jehan. His younger, very good friend; the boy he had been talking to for so many years, whom he had read poetry while lying in the hospital, helping to rescue injured birds from the lakes; kissed him. He got his tongue inside his mouth and let him enjoy the sweet intoxication that his lips gave him. Combeferre had no idea what that meant; but in the end he decided to be guided by instinct. He just allowed him to dig his left hand into Jehan’s hair, pull it behind, and force it to squeeze more into him. The path of their common saliva began to run from Combeferre’s mouth.

Without warning, one of the girls took his hard dick inside her hand and sat on the entire length. Combeferre stopped kissing Jehan and moaned loudly. He bowed his head to see her graceful, chubby body move on his lap and encircle him with her tattooed thighs. There were hands all over his body that left red imprints. Combeferre placed his right hand on her hip and squeezed hard. He dug his nails into her skin and didn’t stop until he saw blood dripping from her side, running down her thigh to his stomach.

“Exactly,” Jehan whispered excitedly in his ear. “Don’t control yourself.”

“You,” Combeferre swallowed. “I want you.”

“Oh, how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” Jehan kissed him on forehead and rose from his place. But instead of replacing the girl on his lap, he reached out to one of the cups. He drank deeply and got dressed. He drank again, but didn’t swallow. He leaned over Combeferre and kissed him. Combeferre had no choice but to swallow the wine. It was bitter, a little thicker. There was something extra in it. Something that was definitely not legal. “You will have me,” Jehan whispered at last, stroking his hair. He had them so soft! He couldn’t resist to tug them. “And thanks to that, you’ll enjoy it all night.” With that, he leaned over again and kissed him.

They kissed for a long time until their lips were swollen.

Grantaire walked slowly behind Enjolras. He took a good four steps ahead of him. Neither of them said anything. Twigs and cones beneath their feet crunched. Grantaire kept looking at Enjolras’s bare feet. He hoped he wasn’t hurt in any way. Enjolras didn’t turn even once during the whole journey.

From the forest, they reached a stone path that led uphill. Fields spilled behind the forest. One with poppies that had long since hidden their buds; one green with unripe corns; another with grain that had already turned yellow and brown in some places. Enjolras entered the last field. He left behind the sloping ears that seemed to be trying to welcome them into their land. Grantaire looked toward the glade, which was beautifully visible from the hill. He saw a wreath of maypole and flying streamers. The great bonfire smelled all the way to them. But they were high enough, and instead of heat and light, they could feel the touch of the moon’s cold, and the world plunged into a silver luster.

His hands suddenly stopped touching the ears. Grantaire stopped and looked around. He stood on the edge of a trampled wheel in the grain. Depending on how fresh the ears looked on the ground, someone had to do it just a few hours before the party itself. On the floor lay a thick, red blanket and a purple pillow with gold embroidery. Grantaire recognized both. It was the bedding Enjolras had slept at the Prouvaire’s house for the last few days.

_ Enjolras _ . Grantaire finally looked ahead. Enjolras stood on the blanket, his arms dangling around his body, standing proudly, his chin a little raised, looking at Grantaire. He looked him straight in the eye. Even in the darkness, Grantaire recognized how beautifully blue they shimmered.

Grantaire had no idea what to do. Go to him? Turn around and leave? Start asking what they’re doing there? Instead of words, he just moistened his lips with his tongue. The answer was Enjolras’s loud breathing. As if he was suffocating something in himself. “Undress,” he said simply. His voice was soft, but Grantaire still knew what it meant. It was an order, and Enjolras expected it to be fulfilled.

Without thinking about it, without being absorbed in his own doubts; Grantaire began to undress. He wanted to remove the antler’s wreath from his head, but Enjolras stopped him immediately, “Just clothes.” Grantaire moved his hand to his shirt and began to unbutton it. As soon as he unzipped it, he threw it aside. He revealed his white skin, hairy chest and tattooed belly. He moved to his pants. As he took off his pants, he noticed his fingers tapping. His heart was pounding. He had light pink scars on his legs that revealed how much pain he had felt in the past. He undressed only in front of people who didn’t ask him about them. As he tossed his pants aside, he took a deep breath and threw away his underwear in one experienced pull. He stood naked in front of Enjolras.

But Enjolras still looked only into his eyes. “Come to me.” Grantaire took a few steps forward, but just before his hands could touch Enjolras, he said, “Kneel down.” Grantaire obeyed. As he landed on his soft, red cloth, he thought - How could it be so easy to obey Enjolras’ orders?

Enjolras walked over to him, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look him in the eye. The sapphire merged with the icy blue. Grantaire felt he couldn’t catch his breath. He suffocated, drowning in the depths of the ocean in his eyes. He began stroking his lips with his thumb. He could only open them slightly and moaned. His silent moan shook the ears of grain that surrounded them. The light in his eyes terrified him, but he still wanted to be even closer to him. He was the sun that was supposed to burn him. Death was approaching.

The roe deer has forgotten that cats are still beasts. And he had now become the prey of one of them.

Enjolras carefully inserted his thumb into Grantaire’s lips. His hands, still protected in leather gloves, began to examine his mouth. Teeth, tongue. Without warning Grantaire, he inserted his thumb as deeply as he could. He almost reached the tonsils. Grantaire didn’t move, making only faint moans and wet sounds that seemed louder on a quiet night. Enjolras placed his other palm on his cheek. In a moment, he shoved his other thumb into his mouth. He joined them in his mouth and began massaging his tongue. With each movement, Grantaire’s mouth widened, and Enjolras felt himself getting deeper and deeper. Grantaire grunted as he hit his throat. His gag reflex woke up.

Enjolras pulled his fingers from his mouth, wiped his gloves on his red toga, and slowly untied the lace on his left hip. Grantaire expected the clothes to fall, but instead loosened only a piece of fabric beneath it. He picked it up and revealed his white skin. Enjolras was naked under his clothes. Grantaire couldn’t help his moaning. He didn’t wait for any order this time. Without Enjolras wanting him, he crawled by his knees up to his body, buried his nose in his stomach, and ran his hands under the red cloth. As soon as he touched his  _ pride _ , he tried to hide his own moan in his clothes. He closed his eyes and began to take care of his cock with his hand, which grew harder with each movement.

It didn’t take long for Enjolras to stop Grantaire. He took him by the shoulders and shoved into him so Grantaire fell on his elbows at ground. Enjolras get above him. He motioned for him to lie down. Grantaire rested his head on a soft pillow. “Are you cold?” The younger man asked as he knelt and noticed the goosebumps on Grantaire’s body.

“No,” he said truthfully. He was excited. After all, Enjolras saw it very well.

“Relax,” the younger man told him as his hands touched his chest. He felt his muscles tense, his skin stretched, his heart pounding and lifting his chest at unnatural intervals. “Calm down,” he whispered, stroking his face with his hand.

“How could I?” Grantaire asked with a smirk. “What is happening now is the best dream I have had in years. And if I wake up now, I swear I’ll kill myself.”

“It’s not a dream,” Enjolras said, touching Grantaire’s dick and making a familiar move up and down several times. Grantaire closed his eyes and sighed.

“It’s too good to be true.”

“In that case, it must be unforgettable for you to believe it.” Enjolras took off his left glove, spat into it, and wet Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire knew why he was doing it, a voice deep inside him begging him to stop Enjolras. After all - he just found out that he’s virgin. Is he really who he wants to lose his innocence with? Who does he want to spend the first night with?

But before he could agree with his inner voice, Enjolras lifted his clothes, only slightly so as not to impede his movement. He still held Grantaire’s cock in his hands and began to sit on it slowly.

Enjolras moaned for the first time. As he felt his entrance expand below Grantaire’s size, he closed his eyes tightly and tried to tame his own breath. He knew that he needs to breath through every move and focus on making it better for both of them. He had imagined many times what it was like. His friends kept saying it would hurts, and maybe that’s why he decided he would never take on a passive role. In fact, the idea that he was the submissive had never excited him. But now he liked it. It occurred to him that even though he was the one who offered his warmth, he felt -  _ dominant _ . As if he were the master of the situation. He couldn’t stop his own smile. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. With half of Grantaire’s cock in him, he began to rise and sit up again.

Grantaire’s eyes were closed all the time. The feeling of his palm couldn’t match what he felt when he got into his warmth. All he had to do was rub against his entrance and he felt an electric shock rush through his body. Grantaire wasn’t a newcomer to sex, and in fact he always thought he regretted losing his virginity at drunken night at fourteen on the toilet in a bar with a boy he didn’t even know. It was customary for him to have a different girl or boy in bed every fortnight. But the last two years have been difficult. When he and Enjolras finally started talking as friends, his hopes began to burn and his one-night nights stopped entertaining him. It had been a long time since he had such a beautiful creature in bed, and in fact long enough since he had made love to a stranger. It had been half a year since he had decided that he would rather live in celibacy for a while than feel guilty every morning for sleeping again with someone he didn’t love. And yet he - who held his whole heart in his hands was so close.

That made him open his eyes. To see who was holding him in tight heat. God, he was  _ so tight _ . Grantaire had to bite his lip to keep from swearing vulgarly. It was a habit, the only relief he had when he felt it was too much for him. But now he felt he wasn’t finding the right words. Enjolras, riding slowly on him, his hands buried in his white thighs, his lips tightly clenched, as were his eyes. He didn’t make a sound, maybe because he was ashamed. But Grantaire feared it hurt. He noticed that he hadn’t prepared himself, and yet he slipped into him so easily. “You’re prepared,” he whispered suddenly, and Enjolras finally looked at him. He stopped moving for a moment, but when he realized Grantaire’s words, he just nodded. “Were you waiting for that?”

“I was hoping for that,” he told him, rising again. The movements were small, clumsy, inexperienced. Grantaire put his hands on his hips and helped him to rise up. In one motion, he was thrown to the tip of his penis and then to his root. Enjolras moaned loudly. He put his right hand over his mouth and bit into a leather glove. He tried to control all the sounds that came from his mouth.

“No, no, no, don’t do it, I want to hear you,” the brunette said as he clenched all his muscles and forced himself to adjust to Enjolras’ pace. It was slow.  _ Torturous  _ slow. “Can I help you?” He asked cautiously.

“Y-yes.” Grantaire lifted his hips and began slamming into him. At first only a little faster than Enjolras, after a while faster, faster, rougher, a little stronger.

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispered between thrusts, digging his fingers into his hips and closing his eyes. He enjoyed the wonderful feeling of warmth that engulfed him.

Enjolras fell to Grantaire’s chest with his hands, and finally, when he had no way to muffle his voice, he moaned loudly. At first he made only strangled sounds, later they became deep, long, passionate moans. “God,  _ Grantaire _ ,” he whispered softly.

“Yes, that's it, say my name,” he told him, pushing hard again.

“Grantaire,” he whispered again. His hands began to shake. His elbows slowly betrayed him. So did the knees, which began to ache from constant kneeling. He tried to escape the pain by rising a little higher, but Grantaire always caught up with him. The flowers from Enjolras’s mask began to fall slowly on Grantaire’s body. First just a few leafs, then whole bunches. “I-I can’t,” Enjolras whispered exhaustedly. He liked running and playing sports, but this was a completely different exercise. He wasn’t used to him. He was subject to his own excitement and clumsiness, which forced him to press to Grantaire’s body and give himself to him.

“Lie on me,” Grantaire told him, and he obeyed. He wrapped his arms around him and put all his weight on his body. Enjolras may have been taller and more athletic, but Grantaire was stronger, his large palms were able to control Enjolras as if he was just a doll. “Raise your hips a little higher and don’t move.” Enjolras listened. Grantaire picked up his own and began to thrust hard.

“Oh God, God, God,” Enjolras whispered into Grantaire’s shoulder, buried his forehead into it and squeezed his hands. He didn’t move and let Grantaire thrusts by himself. Grantaire groaned, breathing loudly, and always interspersed each quick thud with long, slow ones, trying to catch his breath so he could continue.

“You’ll be my death.” With that, Grantaire let go of Enjolras’ hips, grabbed him around the waist, and rolled them in one motion. Enjolras was now lying on his back. Grantaire sat down, ripped off a wreath from his head, slipped out of him for a moment, and quickly began to take care of Enjolras’s clothes. He untied his toga, unbuttoned his shirt, and revealed his bare lap beneath the cloth. He didn’t take any of his clothes off, just unzipped them so he could see him. He looked like the trophy Grantaire had won tonight. Otherwise, the beautiful, golden skin turned silver in the moonlight. His body was bare, shaven, without a single freckle, without a single scar, without a single defect. His cock was hard and was twitching uneasily on his stomach. “You’re longer," Grantaire complained, seemingly annoyed.

“You’re wider," Enjolras remarked. “And I think that’s better.”

“How would you know?” Enjolras frowned at him a little. “Aren’t you virgin?”

“I won’t be after this.”

Grantaire wetted his cock again and slipped into him. Enjolras moaned loudly. Grantaire placed his hands next to his body and began to thrust in long, quick movements. He watched as all the flowers fell from the entire mask. All that remained was the annoying mask. He placed his hand on his left temple, where there was black rubber holding the mask. Enjolras stopped his hand. “I want to see you.” Enjolras tried to shake his head, but Grantaire’s fingers were faster. He tossed the mask somewhere in the grain. Now he could finally look at him in all his beauty. His eyes twinkled, his mouth was beautifully cut and pink, his cheeks red, revealing a few freckles on his nose that were not visible in normal light. His hair was disheveled, restless, and formed an image of the halo around his head. “Beautiful,” he whispered before thrusting again.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Enjolras didn’t know why now thinked about his feelings. But— “You’re first,” he whispered aloud.  _ The first person I ever wanted. The first one I wanted to dug my fingers into your black hair every night. The first one I wanted to know how your lips tasted. The first one I wanted to touch on every part of your body. _ “You’re the first.”  _ Who made me so mad that I broke my things at home because I throw them to ground. Who was able to make me laugh and improving my mood for the whole day. Who managed to scare me because of your disappearing without explaining that I couldn’t sleep all night.  _ “You’re the first.”  _ The people I felt, the strange feelings on my chest. The pressure in the temples, in the lungs, in the lower abdomen. The first person to made me unsure when I saw you in a suit and combed hair. The first person I lost speech to when you took a sweaty T-shirt from the box and I saw your tattooed belly and back.  _ “You’re the first.”  _ Whoever forced me looking for something about art so I could talk about your interest. Who made me interested in human feelings. Who made me look at things from a different perspective.  _ “You’re the first.” _ I wanted to say so many things, but never had the courage to do it. Who I knew what that feeling in my heart meant. Who I was afraid would ruin something we had worked so hard to build among ourselves. Because Grantaire—  _ “You’re the first.” _ —Who I fell in love with. _

Enjolras couldn’t stand it. He could no longer prevent the tears that began to fall uncontrollably from his eyes. “God, Enjolras, are you all right?” Grantaire asked, startled, wiping tears from his fingers.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he said in a hurry, nodding. “Please don’t stop, don’t stop,” he whispered, and when Grantaire wasn’t listening, he put his hands on his hips and thrust himself on his pride several times. “Please, you said you believed in me. So trust me even now. Really. Really,  _ please _ .” Grantaire had never heard those words from his mouth. “Please continue, I need you.” With that, Grantaire fell on his elbows around his face, clinging to his chest and squeezing more on Enjolras. He wrapped his arms around him and joined their foreheads. They were so close that they were beginning to see each other blurry. “I need you.” Enjolras lifted his chin and kissed Grantaire.

“Oh my God,  _ Enjolras. _ ” It was the first time he said his name. When Enjolras heard his name from his mouth, he got even more excited. It was a wonderful moan that he would be able to listen over and over again. “Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras,” Grantaire moaned over and over, as if reading his mind. Enjolras kissed him more eagerly, he didn’t care that their noses and teeth ran into each other, a stream of their saliva flowing from the corner of his mounth.

They  _ needed _ each other.

Enjolras threw away all his shame and took his cock in his right hand. He began jerk himself at the same pace as Grantaire thrusted in him. He pulled away from his mouth and looked down at their joined bodies, at Enjolras’s hand on his cock. “You’re so beautiful, so great,” Grantaire whispered in his ear, and Enjolras closed his eyes tightly. He cried, sobbed, and groaned.

All he felt was  _ happiness _ .

But in a few moments it was all over. Enjolras come on his stomach without warning. Grantaire saw that Enjolras had reached his peak, he had retreated inside, and his tightness had brought him to nirvana. He pull out of him, ending their love affair with a few hand movements, spilling his own juice on Enjolras’s stomach.

Exhausted, Grantaire fell beside Enjolras, closed his eyes, and began to smile. Enjolras wiped away his tears, trying not to think about the annoying pressure that had settled on his chest. It was great. They both felt it. But their thoughts returned to reality. Grantaire had a lot of questions, and Enjolras was again overwhelmed by feelings that were just suffocating him.

“Enjolras.” The blond turned his head to the right. Grantaire reached out and slowly wiped the tears from Enjolras’s face. Enjolras smiled at him. “Don’t—”

“Don’t even try to say it,” Enjolras scolded him. He turned his side. He felt streams of semen run Down from his chest to abdomen, and even on his thighs.

“Okay,” he said simply. And then they were silent. Neither of them knew what to say. And maybe it was better to lie next to each other in silence, looking at each other and let them enjoys a sweet orgasm.

“I have something for you,” Enjolras said suddenly, sitting down. He jumped. It hurts a little at the side and around the entrance. He knew that driving home tomorrow wouldn’t be the most comfortable. But now he needed something else. He reached for the pillow, from which he pulled out a placard. He lay back next to Grantaire and handed him a placard. “Wine.”

“Reward?” He asked with a laugh, and Enjolras lifted the corner of his mouth only slightly. Grantaire took the badge from him. He had a dry throat. He opened the lid and drank almost all of it. Instead of a sweet, red liquid, but he felt a bitterness and a kind of burning. After swallowing, he coughed heavily. “What the heck—”

“Thank you,” Enjolras whispered as he laid his head on his chest and hugged him tightly. He dug his nose into his black curls, and Grantaire felt he started to cry again. “Thank you.”

It was the last thing he heard before his world turned into darkness.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

There was a sound of tired growl in the room. Grantaire buried his head in the pillow, curled up more in the blanket, and tried to fall asleep again. But the dream was already somewhere far away, and it seemed that it wouldn't be able to return. He sighed in annoyance and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to focus. He was in Jehan’s room. Alone. He sat down, stretched, and whimpered again. His back ached. He felt something sting on his shoulder. He rubbed his shoulder absently before feeling fingerprints on it.

At that moment, all his memories of last night came back to him. Clothes. Ritual. Naked girl on a horse. Burning bonfires. Enjolras. Red clothes. Golden clothes. Wreath with antlers. Enjolras. Dance. Flute. Enjolras. Forest. Corn. Enjolras. Wet eyes. Enjolras. Perfect body. Enjolras. Moans. Enjolras. Love making. Enjolras. Enjolras.  _ Enjolras _ .

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, running his hand through his hair. He still had pieces of grass in them. How did he actually get here? The last thing he remembered was drinking wine, which didn’t even taste like wine. And then nothing.

“You’re okay?” Grantaire looked at the balcony door. Feuilly stood there, only in his favorite jeans, no shirt, his hair disheveled, and with lit cigarette in mouth.

“Yeah, just…” What exactly? What should he tell him? Wasn’t there in the end possibility that he just made it all up? “Give me one too.” He got up and walked to the balcony.

“So soon in the morning?” Feuilly asked in surprise, but he gave him a cigarette. He lit it up. As his lungs were filled with nicotine haze, he calmed for a moment. He didn’t smoke often, but still, especially in stressful situations or when he wasn’t feeling well; he take a few. He felt confused now. And lost. He had the right to get one.

He leaned his elbows on the railing and looked down. Directly below them was a porch on which they helped Isabelle with the selection of flowers for yesterday’s celebration. There was only an unfinished glass of juice on the table now. “We already had a breakfast,” Feuilly said, also leaning his elbows beside Grantaire. His silence didn’t seem strange to him. He, too, was still thinking at yesterday’s night. “Jehan and I tried to wake you, but man, you sleep like a dead man.”

“I wish I were,” Grantaire whispered to himself, but Feuilly heard him anyway. He decided not to comment. Grantaire finished his cigarette and threw it down the balcony. “Fuck, I forgot I’m not home,” he said when he realized he just thrown a cigarette into one of Isabelle’s herb gardens.

“They’ll kill you,” Feuilly said with a smile, doing the same. Grantaire looked at him in disbelief. “I’ll blame it on you.”

Grantaire wanted to say something, but Feuilly was already entering the room. “What’s that?” Feuilly looked at Grantaire, who was pointing to his back. He had red scratches on his shoulders and a small bruise on his right side.

“I enjoyed the party. Exactly according to old traditions,” said Feuilly with a smile, pulled his T-shirt over his head and began to pack his things.

“Don’t you try me to tell that you and Florence…?” He didn’t finish.

Feuilly just nodded and smiled. “What about you?”

Grantaire leaned his back against the railing and sighed. “I don’t even know man.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I can’t tell what was the reality and what just my imagination. The wine was strong.”

“You can get into headache club along with Combeferre, he looks like he didn’t slept at all and drank too much.” Feuilly slung his backpack over his back and looked at him. “Enjolras asked about you.”

Grantaire winced. “W-what did he need?”

“He just asked if you were fine when you didn’t show up for breakfast. But that was all. You should pack up, we wanted to leave in a minute, Combeferre has the family reunion tonight.” He opened the door with that, but before he came back and said, “Enjolras was silent today. He didn’t want to talk much and he still looks like he’s thinking. An empty expression? That’s normal for him. But not this one. He looked as if something was bothering him a lot. And you? You look the same. Whatever happened yesterday, promise me you’ll talk to him about it. You know he has problems with expressing his feelings. He needs someone who can understand him.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. After all, last night wasn’t a dream.

Half an hour later, he went downstairs, his backpack thrown over his back, and wondered what he should say to Enjolras. “Oh, you’re awake.” Grantaire looked up from the ground and looked at Isabelle, who was holding a wrapped cloth in her hand. “Would you like breakfast? Tea?”

“No thank you. I’m not hungry,” he said truthfully. The only thing he wanted was wine.

“Good.” Isabelle walked over to him and handed him the package. “It’s yours.” Grantaire inspected the package and only after a moment realized that it was the same one she had given him yesterday. There were festive clothes in it. “I never keep the clothes I sew. It was for you, so do what you want with it.”

Grantaire took it and pulled it tightly to his chest. “Thank you,” he said softly. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever need them again.”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “But it will remind you of something you don’t want to forget.” She leaned over him, kissed him on the cheek, and put the tufts of hair behind his ear with her fingers. “Take care.” She stroked his arms and went up the stairs.

Grantaire looked after her for a moment. He always thought that Isabelle was a little mysterious. But today he felt as if she were something much more. As if she saw into the future, into the souls of all people. She had an infinite charm around her that attracted everyone like the light of a moth. “Weird woman,” he finally summed up his thinking and put on his shoes.

He opened the door, but immediately got stuck in it. Enjolras sat on the doorstep, cleaning his shoe from mud. Hubert sat in the garden, brown from the mud, contentedly holding a red ball in his snouth. Jehan washed him with a garden hose as he talked to Combeferre, who was sitting on the porch, rubbing forehead with his fingers, and constantly drinking from a glass of water. He looked tired, but he was still smiling. Jehan was the same. Feuilly and Courfeyrac, meanwhile, were dealing with something in the car, and when he saw Feuilly slap Courfeyrac’s hand, it was clear to him that he was trying to connect the radio to his cell phone and persuade him to play Ariana Grande’s song all the way home.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Hi.”

Grantaire noticed Enjolras cleaning his shoe with his right hand. He had it bandaged. Grantaire immediately remembered the bad feeling he had seen Enjolras waiting for Florence to cut him in with a dagger. “Hello,” he said, returning to work. He didn’t even look at him. He stood behind him for a while longer. Feuilly’s words echoed in his head -  _ He needs someone to understand him _ . He didn’t know if he was the right adept. But talking to him was the only solution to calm his mind a little.

Grantaire sat down next to Enjolras. “What did you do?”

“I played with Hubert.” He didn’t elaborate it more.

“Ah,” Grantaire said simply, exhaling again. It was more stressful than he thought. His heart was pounding. Sitting next to Enjolras was difficult under normal circumstances. But now? He kept thinking about last night - looking at him, smiling, flexing his back, moaning, how smooth his skin was. His fingers itched, longing to touch him again. “You know, Enj—”

“Oh, who woke up?” Grantaire looked ahead. Courfeyrac stood in front of them, his hands resting on his sides with a small red spot on his forehead. “Where did you go yesterday?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find some vulgar answer or try to humiliate him; but now nothing occurred to him. He couldn’t come up with any funny answers. “You know, I had - I was - I just -”

“Look, we all get  _ little mad _ yesterday, you know,” Courfeyrac laughed as he scratched his hair. “I don’t want to be too detailed, but guys, I still have so much to tell you!”

“I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Grantaire said.

“Certainly! You will envy me, friend! Because, yesterday, wow, that was something.” He looked at Enjolras, who had finally finished his cleaning and put his shoe back. “But I’d rather say nothing before sweet virgin because I don’t want to scare him,” he laughed. Enjolras shot him one of his typical, cold glances. “I’m sorry, Enjy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras protested. “I like it even less than Apollo.” Grantaire looked at him guiltily.

“I’m sorry,  _ Jojo _ .”

“Courfeyrac!” Threatened the older of them.

Courfeyrac laughed again. He looked at Grantaire and said, “Look, I already say it on breakfast, but when you wasn’t there, I need to tell you - Nicole and Olivier get married.”

“What?” He asked in surprise.

“Well, something, Jehan explained it to me, but it’s still confusing for me, but he told me that you can get married that night.”

“You’re kidding,” Grantaire said in disbelief. “Isn’t it just symbolic? Like in Vegas?”

“Weddings in Vegas are valid, aren’t they?” Courfeyrac asked, and for a moment he seemed to be thinking about it. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, but - yes and maybe no. So they get married, but it's not the most legal way and it’s only valid for a year, but it’s quite an exam for couples, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

“There were still plenty of them that they got married so late at night. I was there. Nicole and Olivier were awesome. They were walking by one fire, and Nicole was wearing a pink dress, and she and Olivier were giving each other wreaths that they had knitted for the other. As a symbol of the rings.”

“What?” Grantaire asked suddenly. “Wreaths?”

“Well, yes, wreaths. Like the one Enjolras gave you.” Enjolras stared absently at the ground. “They knitted it, decorated it and give it to each other. It’s said to be more symbolic than rings. And what I can say? It’s more beautiful.”

“Ah,” Grantaire whispered, frowning. So the wreath with the antlers—

“It was really beautiful. I was Olivier’s best man,” he said proudly, turning off his chest.

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Well, that has changed.” Grantaire didn’t miss the fact that Courfeyrac blushed. “A lot of things happened that night,” he said quietly. “Anyway, we’ll be leaving in a moment. Feuilly sent me to take you all into the car, because he would kill me otherwise.” He rubbed his forehead, where he still had a red spot from how Feuilly pinching him. “I’m going to this two now.” He pointed to Jehan and Combeferre, who were now sitting side by side, and neither of them escaped how gently Jehan touched Combeferre’s hand. “Because I still have enough questions for them.”

When Grantaire and Enjolras were left alone, it was Grantaire who broke the suffocating silence with his gentle laugh. “So, wedding, right?” Enjolras finally looked at him. He looked like a frightened deer that got in front of the car wheels. He had probably never seen such a stare on his face. Even on the night he completely surrendered to him, he still looked dominant and superior. “So we are, huh? Husbands?”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras sounded serious. Grantaire was convinced that he would be better off silent and let Enjolras tell him what was on his mind. “I didn’t want to expose you to something you didn’t want. I understand that last night meant nothing to you. I know that a lot of us came together thank to night that forced us, or, better said,  _ convinced us _ that we could do anything. Even what we hid in the depths of our souls for several years.” He bit his lip. He was nervous. He didn’t like these conversations. It was too personal. “I shouldn’t have used you to release the pressure I feel whenever I’m with you.”

“What?” Grantaire asked cautiously. “What pressure?”

“Here,” he said, tapping his fist on his chest. It rumbled. “It’s quite annoying at times.”

“Enjolras, I hope you know—”

“—I know what that means. Grantaire, I’m twenty-five. I’m not a little boy.”

“Well, you’re definitely not  _ a little _ .”

Enjolras frowned at him until he realized what he meant. “Speak seriously at least once,” he said, but a faint blush appeared on his face.

“I’m serious,” Grantaire said firmly, taking a deep breath. “So, let's sum it up, okay? I’ve loved you for a few years, I’ve loved you for the last two years in such a way that I’ve decided to stop drinking so much, and stopped having sex with strangers. Thanks for the last six months, which is worth a shit, because I’m just sick of all the water I’m drinking and I’m still hungry. And you don’t want to know what I feel when you choose to wear your tight t-shirts that you wear on courts. I should sue you for distracting me perfectly, and I can’t thinking of work.” Enjolras smiled slightly. “And you - obviously, you like me too. Like, to speak truth, I knew it. I could feel the clues a little, but I kept thinking -  _ Hey, Grantaire, don’t be stupid. Who could love you?  _ \- and today you want to tell me that you lo—like me in the same way how I love you, but you’re not able to tell me yet. Because, I know you, Enjolras, I know you just have a problem with these things.” He ran his fingers through his black hair. “So you couldn’t think of anything better than waiting for the old holiday, where you sacrifice your virginity, get engaged to me without realizing it, and then drag me to the field where—”

“That’s enough,” Enjolras said firmly. “I understood. It was a mistake.”

Grantaire laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

“What?” Enjolras asked indignantly.

“I said that I feel the same way about you.”

“But - but I made a lot of mistakes,” Enjolras countered. “And yesterday… I used you. God, I  _ abused you _ . Its—”

“Enjolras, it was the best night in years,” Grantaire said truthfully. “Believe me.”

Enjolras was silent for a moment. Then he just sighed softly. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good.” Grantaire slapped his thighs dramatically. “So what now?” Enjolras frowned at the sign that he didn’t understand what he meant. “Shall we get a dog? Or a cat? Or will I take a look at some adoptions?”

“W-what?”

“Well, now that we’re married. We don’t even live together yet, but we should talk about the future together. I should probably warn you that when I’m very tired, I snore. When I’m drunk a lot, like that not so often now, but it happens! I sleep like deadman. After all, you found out today. And when I’m very horny, I grunt sometimes. Yeah, I’m sorry, it’s gonna happen. Yeah, and I also need to have a place in the fridge for a sweets, because a day without some sweets? You don’t want to experience that. I’m like Gremlin, but instead of going crazy when you wet me, I bite when you don’t give me sugar. Then ther— ” He didn’t finish. Enjolras silenced him with a kiss. Grantaire’s words stuck in his throat. But he answered immediately. He bit his soft lips gently and moved his hand to his cheek.

Enjolras pulled away from him after a while, their noses still touching. “You’re cute when you talk like that.”

“I always do that when—”

“—You’re nervous or happy. I know.” He kissed him again. “Every time you want to sell a painting, you wear a red shirt because you think that brings you good luck. You love sunflowers, which you have been trying to grown for three years on the balcony, even though you tell everyone that there are marijuana in those pots. You love goofy comedies that you don’t have to think about, because it’s the only thing that makes you stop thinking about the nonsense you have in your head for a while. And that you have a lot of them there.”

“Especially you.” Enjolras playfully bit his lower lip. They both laughed. Enjolras pulled away from him and gently stroked his hand on his thigh. “Before I start to blush,” the brunette said, though his face had been redder for a long time. “Can I invite my husband on a date? Your first step will be really hard to overcome, but I hope you won’t reject me.”

“Never,” he said, squeezing his palm harder as proof. “But don’t get used to being  _ top _ . It was once and for the last time.”

“Is it a spoiler that our first date will end up in bed?”

“Let's go!” Feuilly screamed from the car. Enjolras and Grantaire kissed each other quickly and together they reached the car, where the others were already waiting for them. As Courfeyrac kept trying to force Jehan to tell him about last night, they found that neither of them had saw them.

“Don’t worry boys, Daddy Feuilly is here, he will take care of you for the rise," Feuilly said happily as he took the driver’s seat.

“That sounds good,  _ Daddy _ ,” Courfeyrac said excitedly, grabbing the cable that led to the radio.

“I’m warning you,” Feuilly said with a raised finger. “One girly song and I’m throwing you out while driving.”

“Don’t worry,” Courfeyrac said with a laugh, plugging the cable into his cell phone and choosing which song would upset everyone in the car.

“Can you lower the volume, please?” Jehan asked as he sat down in the back of the combined seat and forced Combeferre to lie on his lap.

“It’s all right,” Combeferre said, but he smiled as he felt Jehan’s fingers gently massage his head. “It’s my fault I get a little too much excited yesterday.” Without the others noticing, he grabbed Jehan’s other hand in his palm and touched the small bruise that painted around his wrist.

“It was okay,” Jehan smiled at him and stroked his ear. “Believe me.”

“That’s my sentence!” Grantaire said as he stepped into the middle split seats and looked at them. “Combeferre, you look like someone drove over you. You let Courfeyrac behind the wheel yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Oh, come on!” Courfeyrac countered as he played the second song, catching another angry glance from Feuilly.

Enjolras came in like the last one, closed the door behind him, and, unlike the others, was silent. When Feuilly started the car and started talking with Courfeyrac, he picked up his cell phone. Grantaire received a message in a few minutes. Once he read it, he couldn’t help but smiled.

_ Apollo: It was the best night of my life too. _

Before Grantaire fell asleep again, he answered:

_ R: And believe me, there will be many more to follow. _

**Author's Note:**

> And then they come back next year and Nicole and Florence have children. The end.
> 
> Anyway, I would like to inform you that in June I'll probably not uploaded any story or very short! I'm now fully focused on writing fanfictions from the [Birthday fanfictions project]. Although I only need to write fanfictions for 4 awesome girls, they're all starting to exceed 10,000 words and I would like to have enough time to edit and translate them. Thank for understanding!
> 
> Until then, you can follow me on my tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com).


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